[ 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