| 歌曲 | Click & Spark |
| 歌手 | Fabolous |
| 专辑 | Ghetto Fabolous |
| 作曲 : K Ifill/J. Jackson/E. Shaw | |
| [D.J Clue + Fabolous] | |
| D.J Clue, Desert Storm | |
| You know how we do things | |
| (uh)Right now (uh), whachu bout to hear (uh, yea) | |
| Whachu bout to witness | |
| [Fab] F A B O L O U S | |
| [Clue](O L O U S!) | |
| [Clue]Come on, my man Fabolous (uh, yea, uh) | |
| The album, Ghetto Fabolous (come on, uh, yo) | |
| Come on man!! | |
| [Fabolous] | |
| My gun go click and spark | |
| Don't leave witnesses to point me out on 106 and Park | |
| Son those slick remarks, gon' get you | |
| Bla-bla da da,bla-bla da da da da (blaow!) | |
| Y'all walk through my p's in karats | |
| Wind up hook on machines, livin' like peas and carrots | |
| Ya team wanna beef, thats when I screw the muzzle on the tip | |
| And strap the beam underneath | |
| When I ride through, ya dont see no lid | |
| I put snipers on the roof like Nino did | |
| All it takes is some c-note slid | |
| To have you on the news askin if anyone seen yo' kid | |
| I dont scream it in a rough tone | |
| I got spots in the whip to stuff crome, that would of help Puff Combs | |
| Every hustler on this planet's ags | |
| Cause i'm givin' away twenties so big, they in sandwhich bags, nigga | |
| Uh, yea | |
| F A B, O L O U S | |
| Yea, fo real, uh, yo, uh | |
| [Verse 2] | |
| These niggas gots to be punched | |
| Act stupid, get shells in ya stomache, like you ate pasta for lunch | |
| If I let this diablo door raise | |
| I'mma have the front of ya crib lookin like Diallos doorway | |
| See I know all yays, we buy ours pure-yay | |
| We waitin on boats, these guys go Broadway | |
| Ya gon make me tie a bomb under ya Benz | |
| See how much you talk wit firearms under ya chin | |
| No you can't take the coupe wit dishes | |
| Cause when I hit the highway, it always makes the troop suspicious | |
| Please, I get my dollar from the hersey | |
| I'm on that fly gangsta shit, I pop the collar on my jersey | |
| You know I got the heat the way the Vanson is bendin | |
| Same laid back flow, no dancin' or grinin' | |
| Who else can it be spellin it at them | |
| You have them tappin they friend like "I'm tellin you that's him", stupid |
| zuò qǔ : K Ifill J. Jackson E. Shaw | |
| D. J Clue Fabolous | |
| D. J Clue, Desert Storm | |
| You know how we do things | |
| uh Right now uh, whachu bout to hear uh, yea | |
| Whachu bout to witness | |
| Fab F A B O L O U S | |
| Clue O L O U S! | |
| Clue Come on, my man Fabolous uh, yea, uh | |
| The album, Ghetto Fabolous come on, uh, yo | |
| Come on man!! | |
| Fabolous | |
| My gun go click and spark | |
| Don' t leave witnesses to point me out on 106 and Park | |
| Son those slick remarks, gon' get you | |
| Blabla da da, blabla da da da da blaow! | |
| Y' all walk through my p' s in karats | |
| Wind up hook on machines, livin' like peas and carrots | |
| Ya team wanna beef, thats when I screw the muzzle on the tip | |
| And strap the beam underneath | |
| When I ride through, ya dont see no lid | |
| I put snipers on the roof like Nino did | |
| All it takes is some cnote slid | |
| To have you on the news askin if anyone seen yo' kid | |
| I dont scream it in a rough tone | |
| I got spots in the whip to stuff crome, that would of help Puff Combs | |
| Every hustler on this planet' s ags | |
| Cause i' m givin' away twenties so big, they in sandwhich bags, nigga | |
| Uh, yea | |
| F A B, O L O U S | |
| Yea, fo real, uh, yo, uh | |
| Verse 2 | |
| These niggas gots to be punched | |
| Act stupid, get shells in ya stomache, like you ate pasta for lunch | |
| If I let this diablo door raise | |
| I' mma have the front of ya crib lookin like Diallos doorway | |
| See I know all yays, we buy ours pureyay | |
| We waitin on boats, these guys go Broadway | |
| Ya gon make me tie a bomb under ya Benz | |
| See how much you talk wit firearms under ya chin | |
| No you can' t take the coupe wit dishes | |
| Cause when I hit the highway, it always makes the troop suspicious | |
| Please, I get my dollar from the hersey | |
| I' m on that fly gangsta shit, I pop the collar on my jersey | |
| You know I got the heat the way the Vanson is bendin | |
| Same laid back flow, no dancin' or grinin' | |
| Who else can it be spellin it at them | |
| You have them tappin they friend like " I' m tellin you that' s him", stupid |