Pain Is Love

(feat. Lounge Mode & Solomon Childs)

(Chorus: Cappadonna)

Pain is love, that's what this ***** told me

I keep washin' my face with blunts and O.E

Mix coke with dust, still can hold me

What made ya mutha****as think you control me?

(Lounge Mode)

Staten Island been wildin', so Osama's nothing

And my *****z out in Brooklyn said Saddam was frontin'

Gotta squad, what you think, it ain't no guns or something?

Picture Me Rollin', holdin' less than a one or somethin'

You fake ******s, yeah we got that big automatic

Like, Bruce Willis and the Jackal type, yeah, right

You wanna see it? Then get on my nerves

Oh you live, and I'm gettin' money spit on my curb

In the hood where it get no harder, only tougher

Crack fiends suffer, baby moms, baby brother

Hustlin', still forty off a hundred packs

I'd rather lounge in the back of the bar

Me and my dog throw crack in the jar

Listen to this rap star, while I sit back in the car

And I told ya'll *****z how the Staten rock

We don't, trick on chicks, yo we clap them shots

You get caught if you ask a lot, like you don't know

And where you at, then ya ass is got

(Chorus)

(Solomon Childs)

We bringin' back the Twin Towers, 20-0-3, crack game electronic

Conceived with slow jams by The Delfonics

At a level that you should of been years ago

Responsible usually for coke traffic, usually for broken bone tragic

Rest in peace, to Mayor Guliani's term

They say I'm wrong, ****

I'm try'nna see 26, with my daughters at the Emmy Awards

All around the ball glowin', they got the **** flow droughted

Or maybe *****z in the hood just ain't 'bout it

Talkin' Hercules, and ain't nothin' but dog food

Staten Island, New York City drools

Crazy glue on my fingerprints

Name on the concrete of my hood, what's really good?

Vendetta's with these rap stars

Frontin' like this crime and the pet is they cars

Believe I was God in my last life

What if it was your knife? What if they was your gloves, *****..

(Chorus)

(Cappadonna)

Aiyo, I came into this game on some real love ****

And ya'll ***** ass *****z, ya'll wanted me to quit

Because the way I dress ill and the way that I spit

But I ain't never gon' stop, droppin' these joints

And ya'll fake ass *****z, ya'll ain't gettin' no points

Don't try to sabotage me, cuz you just can't do it

You had me in the ******, last year, but you blew it

Big Donna from the group home, that's my word

Splash shots at your whip, splash shots at your bird

Leave your brains and your Gucci boots up on the curb

Pillage for life, *****'s will be the most superb

Smoke **** with the cannon, smoke the herb

So bow down, all you crab ass clowns you can't live

My gun's on empty, but it's more shots to give

I pop you like a slave cop, run in your crib

Throw darts at your wife, throw darts at your kid

Leave your house flooded with hits like O.J. did

Escapin' the crime scene and you love how I slid

(Chorus)