Ab-Liva - Re-Up Intro lyrics

[Intro: Pusha T] R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G x8 [Verse 1: Pusha T] Young, obnoxious, hand on our crotches Swagga out of this world, call us the Diddy-boppers f** the sh** out your girl, let the city watch us Hit her with the Dougie like Cam'ron Move b**h, move b**h; throw that sh**, my jam's on White Lambo, hear them fans blow Black interior, I's a modern day Sambo So n******gish, they flow's frivolous Tickle us pink like white girl cli*oris f**in' the game up, Re-Up, them n***as deceive ya We get 'em for thirteen fiva, we don't believe ya My reputation carry stripes in hood, I am Zebra f**er! Neither, you nor your man's my caliber I challenge ya, the c**aine balancer We hear you from afar, I silencer Neighbourhood P [Verse 2: Sandman] Dig it, I'm in a rage like Cujo Y'all wanna wrestle, play sumo Murk your b**h a** on my uno You know, sh**s from the two blow All other n***as faces We take all other n***as 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, p**y When I'm around take it back in the house, p**y And I'm flossin' too Big drawn with an igloo arm that's blue Sky-like, I'm high like giraffe a** Crack a**, Re-Up What y'all mad at? [Verse 3: Malice] This ain't nothin' but candy from a baby I sell that sh**, got 'em stuck since the 80's Y'all ain't even thinkin' 'bout stickin' to format Y'all n***as tellin' through ohh'n like who*e 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, n***a 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? [Verse 4: Ab Liva] 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 n***a Got lil' bad b**hes 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