Raekwon — Ill Figures

[Intro: Raekwon] When I write my lyrics, it's like, it's like I want my shit to be phat, I want people to be able to understand Yo, Anybody can rhyme, youknowhatimsaying But it's what you saying that makes a person know about you Knowhatimsaying, you know the type of person you is So it's like really, I'm just more of just Being a street narrator (aiyo, what up, famo?) [Verse 1: Raekwon] Reefer lit, love hip hop, the gangstas got me like the broccoli Brooklyn baby cooling at a swap meet Real niggas wanna meet me, ladies wanna eat me Money green Mercedes clean, baby, beat me Love getting dressed up, sweats and TECs Ride around the hood, good, getting Gotti respect Hand is golden, a OG rolling and holding, yo Fresh kicks, soft leather, pockets is swollen Let my jam hit your tape deck, it's straight up, and made up For every real nigga with his gun on him, hate up Flying through the city nights, new flights Blue ice, hundred thousand in a Nike bag, license Drug shop, I'm sorry, Atari in the Ferrari Next see the Lex A Shallah, La Tam'pa Eating yo, all of us, scamma gangstas You know we honor, tip the kangol, cooling in the brown vengos [Interlude: Kung fu sample] I have never, giving up on a mission That's against my honor [Verse 2: Lil' Fame] Duke let me warn you, my niggas crip up Them young boys'll run up on you, shoot your whip up Brooklyn, nigga, beg for you life And my Staten Island homeys lay your ass down on Glaciers of Ice Sidewalk executives, live the street life consecutive We built for this, go for your gun My prospective is, another day in the life, of money and drugs Big hammers and slugs, can get ugly as fuck [Verse 3: Billy Danze] From the chest to your man Danze, ey Staten Island, said what up, yo, ey The homey ODB said what up, though, ey We got the Chef on deck as if you didn't know It's sharp as fuck, Wu, that's what up Pack it up, wanna rap, wanna rock, what up? Wanna pop, get up, fuck around and get your block hit up Bring your team and we'll box 'em up Think M.O.P. is not what up [Interlude: Kung fu sample] It seems I'm a bit late here Don't worry, these men are all gonna die [Verse 4: Kool G. Rap] G from the side where it's slum at, dumb at, rum at Cognac, combat, contact, contracts Cronze backing out like Beyonce back G bang out a song like The Fonz bat Bangin' dames, bring the slang slicker than the sharpest pen Nigga here to combat Sweet dick Willie G Rudy Ray Moore game Wood grain all in the board Range, 4 rain flooded like storm drains Boss main bundling raw 'caine, 4's bang, neighborhood war games Get your weight up, you looking anorexic Posted on the block proper with the hammer, vested Bitch came with empty hands, that's the hand she left with Thirsty ass with no water and it sounded desperate Brick a white nowadays is forty grand invested Live within the third rail, you know the man electric Shit was like the third world, until I handle metrics, that next shit