Double Up lyrics

[Verse 1: Cam'ron]
Yo, y'all n*ggas with the muscle, y'all get clapped in the tussle
I'm a hustler, not a rapper, it's just that rap is my hustle
Show a Digga know, yo
We the first teen millionaires in Harlem since Rich and Po
You don't know? Get to know
Ain't takin' sh*t to blow, Jenny Jones, 'Rock N' Jock'
Right back to the block to clock, it ain't hop and scotch
It's Pop and scotch, in a bar, they go shot for shot
Matter of fact, outside the bar, they go shot for shot
Me and my co-D on a O-Z, we go rock for rock
Me and my co-D on a Rollie, we go rock for rock
You souped up, think I'm easy to touch?
Then you been watchin' a little bit of TV too much
Lots of rhymes, sure you see my ass lots of times
On the corner still, like I ain't got a dime
Autographs, not the kind to be signing the crap
"Take a CD," slash "Here's a dime of this crack"

[Hook]
n*gga double up, keep all guns double clutch
Shoot at yo' feet, make you jump like double dutch
New York, baby, for you matchbox n*ggas
Chicken wing, french fry, snack box n*ggas

[Verse 2: Cam'ron]
I know looking at my jewelry is scarring yo' brain
Not to mention, Jada Pinkett over parking the Range
(Yo, that's Will Smith girl) Naw, she's part of my chain
Pardon my game, car gettin' washed in the rain
Runnin' yo' trap, that'll get you one in yo' back
The hood that I have, had to take the good with the bad
Like Joe on the run, plus his f*ckin P.O., it's done
Low on his funds, better get the coke or the guns
Word to the wise, Killa Cam, I heard of them guys
Diplomat, Chris Black, yo, convertible fives
Rims on the wheel, to drive down shows in the South
Rap ain't that great neither, I got coke to give out
Coke to give out, motherf*ckin' smoke to give out
Hoes to give out, naw, we ain't over this route
Back on the street, Jimmy get the crack on the street
Tour over, motherf*cker, let's get back on our feet
[Hook]
n*gga double up, keep all guns double clutch
Shoot at yo' feet, make you jump like double dutch
New York, baby, for you matchbox n*ggas
Chicken wing, french fry, snack box n*ggas

[Verse 3: Juelz Santana]
I f*cked up, let the streets got a hold of me
Now they got me trapped in, and they holdin' me
I'm stressed out, why else would I smoke the weed?
Every day, papi tell me he got coke for cheap
Broke as sh*t, thats why I hold the fifth
Send n*ggas to snatch your chain and choke your b*tch
Rope your n*gga, leave 'em with an open liver
I'm the reason why it's gonna get cold this winter
I done seen n*ggas standin' on these blocks for days
Pump work out of buildings, dimes and treys
f*ck A&R's that want me to dance and pose
I rather stand on poles with grams and O's
White shirt, construction Timbs, a pair Girbauds
And white powder stuff, that'll clear ya nose, faggot

[Hook]
n*gga double up, keep all guns double clutch
Shoot at yo' feet, make you jump like double dutch
New York, baby, for you matchbox n*ggas
Chicken wing, french fry, snack box n*ggas