Clipse - Re-Up Intro текст песни

Young, obnoxious, hand on our crotches
Swagga out of this world, call us the Diddy-boppers
Fuck the shit out your girl, let the city watch us Hit her with the Dougie like Cam’ron
Move bitch, move bitch; throw that shit, my jam’s on White Lambo, hear them fans blow
Black interior, I’s a modern day Sambo
So niggerish, they flow’s frivolous
Tickle us pink like white girl clitoris
Fuckin' the game up, Re-Up, them niggas deceive ya We get 'em for thirteen fiva, we don’t believe ya My reputation carry stripes in hood, I am Zebra
Fucker! Neither, you nor your man’s my caliber
I challenge ya, the cocaine balancer
We hear you from afar, I silencer
Neighbourhood P Dig it, I’m in a rage like Cujo
Y’all wanna wrestle, play sumo
Murk your bitch ass on my uno
You know, shits from the two blow
All other niggas faces
We take all other niggas places
'Scuse us, no excuses
Lain like Confucius
Don’t confuse us, we really do this
Re-Up's ruthless, ain’t much to prove this
Two clips, not Pusha and Mal'
The two holdin' the rounds
The click-clack and the pow
Talk foul, get slapped in ya mouth, pussy
When I’m around take it back in the house, pussy
And I’m flossin' too
Big drawn with an igloo arm that’s blue
Sky-like, I’m high like giraffe ass
Crack ass, Re-Up
What y’all mad at?
This ain’t nothin' but candy from a baby
I sell that shit, got 'em stuck since the 80's
Y’all ain’t even thinkin' 'bout stickin' to format
Y’all niggas tellin' through ohh’n like whore shack?
Singin' with the band with snares and high hats
And it ain’t slow as no we kept hunting for more crack!
We ain’t holla back, nigga we holla Black!
Card Era, second coming taking ya back
And it’s a known fact y’all tired of the circus
So come home where you smell the crack in the verses!
The whole rap world watched the Clipse take a bow
We left it in ya hands, you ain’t make Father proud!
None of y’all can copy—a hard act to follow
We was cursed with the spirit of verses, the stigmata!
Suicide bomb ya, like Mohamed Atta
Or the doors on that Phantom, Re-Up, we rap martyrs what?
Black Card Exclusive, member of the secret society:
It’s not just music that I barter with
Tape tight on the soft ya chef to get harder with
Art of it, mastered the flame that they solder with
Young’un you could learn — Liva Coach Carter it!
I was a part of it, loiter in the wool
Ritz thirty paces from work, I thirty grand, two shirts
«Chez a Re-Va jeux tee» scribbled in the wool stitch
Three quarter blazer;
Sharp like a single edge razor on them gemstars
Breaking that beige up Now I’m an arm left of the best as we conquest
The rest of the rap game, you listen in vain nigga
Got lil' bad bitches Emilio Pucci;
Sitting on blades like Kristi Yamaguchi
In the SL two-seat; six-inch heels by Gucci;
When a player land ma scoop me No luggage I shopped in, California sun on my skin
As the rocks blind traffic that I’m in
I’m Magic with pen; I’m Jordan in the booth;
I’m 'Melo with the flow; Lebron I’m the truth