All Around The World (Clean LP Version) (Featuring Cuban Link) Lyrics
| Song | All Around The World (Clean LP Version) (Featuring Cuban Link) |
| Artist | Terror Squad |
| Album | Terror Squad |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| [ intro：fat joe ] | |
| Yeah yeah | |
| Terror squad what-what | |
| Cuban link what-what | |
| '99, baby | |
| [ verse 1: cuban link ] | |
| Yo ladi-dadi, mami, i love to party | |
| Plus i always cause trouble when i guzzle bacardi | |
| Got the hotties sippin rum, maseratis with the stumps | |
| Music bumpin out the trunk. everybody's gettin drunk | |
| From the bronx, settin, lettin it all out | |
| No doubt, toast your coast | |
| Reppin the east, west, north, south | |
| Now it's all about the terror squad, ghetto superstars | |
| Extra-large players like kareem abdul jabbar | |
| Word to god, pun, my crew won't give a fuck who you are | |
| We do our job like we part of the mob, shoot up the bar | |
| Cuban the don daddy like john gotti | |
| I brung a long shotie for the chump bodies | |
| If it's on it's on, mami | |
| [ chorus ] | |
| It's mister cuban link, baby, comin through with the hits | |
| Gettin love from the ladies while my crew in the triz | |
| And this goes out to the players, thugs, hustlers and pimps | |
| (we run shit) | |
| All around the world | |
| You know i do my thing, baby, cuban link full eclipse | |
| Terror squad, new era, god, better choose who you with | |
| When we flip ain't no tellin what we do to your click | |
| (we run shit) | |
| All around the world | |
| [ verse 2: cuban link ] | |
| Villainous terror squadian, bacardi dark got me crashin the party | |
| Undressin hotties to take it all from the drawers to they barbie bits | |
| Pokin up in your ?vaginal? flow in carhartts and timbos | |
| Thuggin it with a limp, cause cuban link is known to pimp hoes | |
| Gettin bimbos from all angles, mandingo straight out the combo | |
| From a bedroom i needed gettin head in a durango | |
| Grab your ankles, do the hula-hoop your culo while i do ya | |
| Nothin's cooler than fuckin while you're puffin a bag of buddah | |
| Don the cuba's got your cura, schoolin juniors like butuvas | |
| Smooth as luther when it comes to suckin hooters like a hoover | |
| Who the man now? impressed so many mamis, i can't count | |
| Holdin my count down till the last round, hands down | |
| No question i blow your chest in with a smith & wesson | |
| You'll be dead in less than a second - reckon | |
| Better listen, my weapon, step in my sessions for lessons | |
| Lasting impression, destined to be the best in this profession | |
| [ chorus ] | |
| [ verse 3: cuban link ] | |
| I'm runnin ralleys from new york to cali up in a caddy | |
| Puffin like daddy with paddy, baggin the weed up in the backseat | |
| Crackin forties, actin naughty, tellin em shorties, havin orgees | |
| Watchin pokeys with four freaks - now that's me | |
| I be the nasty cuban, slammin like i'm patrick ewing | |
| Pass me a bag of weed, a brew, and the track that we're doing | |
| For you and yours, full of glitter style | |
| Showin all my skills like a stripper, baby, hit me with some shit for now | |
| Break it down, hit the ground, move your hips around | |
| Make it bounce, shoop and sit down on my dick and do the brown | |
| If you down we can bounce right now, pick up a pound | |
| Enjoy and lounge with style, y'all know my name by now | |
| [ chorus ] | |
| [ outro: fat joe ] | |
| No doubt | |
| Cuban link, baby | |
| '99 | |
| Terror squad | |
| All you fake-ass niggas | |
| Tryin to be like us, talk like us | |
| But you could never walk like us | |
| Fuck around and get outlined in chalk | |
| Terror squad | |
| Joe crack | |
| Big pun | |
| Prospecto | |
| Armageaddyo | |
| Triple seis, what? | |
| Raoul |
| intro: fat joe | |
| Yeah yeah | |
| Terror squad whatwhat | |
| Cuban link whatwhat | |
| ' 99, baby | |
| verse 1: cuban link | |
| Yo ladidadi, mami, i love to party | |
| Plus i always cause trouble when i guzzle bacardi | |
| Got the hotties sippin rum, maseratis with the stumps | |
| Music bumpin out the trunk. everybody' s gettin drunk | |
| From the bronx, settin, lettin it all out | |
| No doubt, toast your coast | |
| Reppin the east, west, north, south | |
| Now it' s all about the terror squad, ghetto superstars | |
| Extralarge players like kareem abdul jabbar | |
| Word to god, pun, my crew won' t give a fuck who you are | |
| We do our job like we part of the mob, shoot up the bar | |
| Cuban the don daddy like john gotti | |
| I brung a long shotie for the chump bodies | |
| If it' s on it' s on, mami | |
| chorus | |
| It' s mister cuban link, baby, comin through with the hits | |
| Gettin love from the ladies while my crew in the triz | |
| And this goes out to the players, thugs, hustlers and pimps | |
| we run shit | |
| All around the world | |
| You know i do my thing, baby, cuban link full eclipse | |
| Terror squad, new era, god, better choose who you with | |
| When we flip ain' t no tellin what we do to your click | |
| we run shit | |
| All around the world | |
| verse 2: cuban link | |
| Villainous terror squadian, bacardi dark got me crashin the party | |
| Undressin hotties to take it all from the drawers to they barbie bits | |
| Pokin up in your ? vaginal? flow in carhartts and timbos | |
| Thuggin it with a limp, cause cuban link is known to pimp hoes | |
| Gettin bimbos from all angles, mandingo straight out the combo | |
| From a bedroom i needed gettin head in a durango | |
| Grab your ankles, do the hulahoop your culo while i do ya | |
| Nothin' s cooler than fuckin while you' re puffin a bag of buddah | |
| Don the cuba' s got your cura, schoolin juniors like butuvas | |
| Smooth as luther when it comes to suckin hooters like a hoover | |
| Who the man now? impressed so many mamis, i can' t count | |
| Holdin my count down till the last round, hands down | |
| No question i blow your chest in with a smith wesson | |
| You' ll be dead in less than a second reckon | |
| Better listen, my weapon, step in my sessions for lessons | |
| Lasting impression, destined to be the best in this profession | |
| chorus | |
| verse 3: cuban link | |
| I' m runnin ralleys from new york to cali up in a caddy | |
| Puffin like daddy with paddy, baggin the weed up in the backseat | |
| Crackin forties, actin naughty, tellin em shorties, havin orgees | |
| Watchin pokeys with four freaks now that' s me | |
| I be the nasty cuban, slammin like i' m patrick ewing | |
| Pass me a bag of weed, a brew, and the track that we' re doing | |
| For you and yours, full of glitter style | |
| Showin all my skills like a stripper, baby, hit me with some shit for now | |
| Break it down, hit the ground, move your hips around | |
| Make it bounce, shoop and sit down on my dick and do the brown | |
| If you down we can bounce right now, pick up a pound | |
| Enjoy and lounge with style, y' all know my name by now | |
| chorus | |
| outro: fat joe | |
| No doubt | |
| Cuban link, baby | |
| ' 99 | |
| Terror squad | |
| All you fakeass niggas | |
| Tryin to be like us, talk like us | |
| But you could never walk like us | |
| Fuck around and get outlined in chalk | |
| Terror squad | |
| Joe crack | |
| Big pun | |
| Prospecto | |
| Armageaddyo | |
| Triple seis, what? | |
| Raoul |
| intro: fat joe | |
| Yeah yeah | |
| Terror squad whatwhat | |
| Cuban link whatwhat | |
| ' 99, baby | |
| verse 1: cuban link | |
| Yo ladidadi, mami, i love to party | |
| Plus i always cause trouble when i guzzle bacardi | |
| Got the hotties sippin rum, maseratis with the stumps | |
| Music bumpin out the trunk. everybody' s gettin drunk | |
| From the bronx, settin, lettin it all out | |
| No doubt, toast your coast | |
| Reppin the east, west, north, south | |
| Now it' s all about the terror squad, ghetto superstars | |
| Extralarge players like kareem abdul jabbar | |
| Word to god, pun, my crew won' t give a fuck who you are | |
| We do our job like we part of the mob, shoot up the bar | |
| Cuban the don daddy like john gotti | |
| I brung a long shotie for the chump bodies | |
| If it' s on it' s on, mami | |
| chorus | |
| It' s mister cuban link, baby, comin through with the hits | |
| Gettin love from the ladies while my crew in the triz | |
| And this goes out to the players, thugs, hustlers and pimps | |
| we run shit | |
| All around the world | |
| You know i do my thing, baby, cuban link full eclipse | |
| Terror squad, new era, god, better choose who you with | |
| When we flip ain' t no tellin what we do to your click | |
| we run shit | |
| All around the world | |
| verse 2: cuban link | |
| Villainous terror squadian, bacardi dark got me crashin the party | |
| Undressin hotties to take it all from the drawers to they barbie bits | |
| Pokin up in your ? vaginal? flow in carhartts and timbos | |
| Thuggin it with a limp, cause cuban link is known to pimp hoes | |
| Gettin bimbos from all angles, mandingo straight out the combo | |
| From a bedroom i needed gettin head in a durango | |
| Grab your ankles, do the hulahoop your culo while i do ya | |
| Nothin' s cooler than fuckin while you' re puffin a bag of buddah | |
| Don the cuba' s got your cura, schoolin juniors like butuvas | |
| Smooth as luther when it comes to suckin hooters like a hoover | |
| Who the man now? impressed so many mamis, i can' t count | |
| Holdin my count down till the last round, hands down | |
| No question i blow your chest in with a smith wesson | |
| You' ll be dead in less than a second reckon | |
| Better listen, my weapon, step in my sessions for lessons | |
| Lasting impression, destined to be the best in this profession | |
| chorus | |
| verse 3: cuban link | |
| I' m runnin ralleys from new york to cali up in a caddy | |
| Puffin like daddy with paddy, baggin the weed up in the backseat | |
| Crackin forties, actin naughty, tellin em shorties, havin orgees | |
| Watchin pokeys with four freaks now that' s me | |
| I be the nasty cuban, slammin like i' m patrick ewing | |
| Pass me a bag of weed, a brew, and the track that we' re doing | |
| For you and yours, full of glitter style | |
| Showin all my skills like a stripper, baby, hit me with some shit for now | |
| Break it down, hit the ground, move your hips around | |
| Make it bounce, shoop and sit down on my dick and do the brown | |
| If you down we can bounce right now, pick up a pound | |
| Enjoy and lounge with style, y' all know my name by now | |
| chorus | |
| outro: fat joe | |
| No doubt | |
| Cuban link, baby | |
| ' 99 | |
| Terror squad | |
| All you fakeass niggas | |
| Tryin to be like us, talk like us | |
| But you could never walk like us | |
| Fuck around and get outlined in chalk | |
| Terror squad | |
| Joe crack | |
| Big pun | |
| Prospecto | |
| Armageaddyo | |
| Triple seis, what? | |
| Raoul |
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