Ras Ka** - Hands Up lyrics

[Intro] "Y'all don't re-up like us" "Y'all don't re-up like us" "Y'all don't re-up like us" (Want the whole world to say "f** that") "Ay! Y'all don't re-up like us" (Haha) "Y'all don't re-up like us" (Easy enough right?) "Y'all don't re-up like us" (f** that!) "Y'all don't re-up like us" "Y'all don't re-up like us" "Y'all don't re-up like us, ay!" (Doctor know, state your name, gangsta, gangsta) [Verse 1] My new name is, Ras Gannon L.A. Raiders, arm like cannon Quarterback rap, improve your j**els f** silver, we sport platinum and black How platinum is that? Snatch my album, from y'all capital saps It's a motherf**ing rap and If I turn myself in, start serving my bid I'm a show off my cell, on MTV Cribs (aha) These ain't Air Force Ones, these GFF Gianfranco Ferre, ostrich skin belt f** a chinchilla, rock a rap n***a pelt Hot to d**h, the boy touch flame it'll melt Damn shame I got the short end of the stick Cause I sharpened that sh**, and slit the rap game's wrist f** that, Ras Ka** the measure of all who claim to be nice From the mic to the dice to the dikes [Chorus] (Hands up) Throw your hands in the air And wave them motherf**ers, like you just don't care (Hands up) Put your hands in the sky 2-11 n***a, your money or your life (Hands up) Throw your hands in the air And wave them motherf**ers, like you just don't care (Hands up) Put your hands in the sky 1-8-7, ya money or ya life [Verse 2] All I need is one mic, two 22's, three 80's Four play five mama's of my babies, six 100 Mercedes Seven summers locking the game like Jay-Z Eight gangsters riding like my Bigg homie Tray Dee Wit Dangerous Minds inflict, thinking bout flaming this nine Ten in a clip, +Ocean's Eleven+, robbed the whole Vegas Strip Judged by twelve, but oh well If controversy sells, I'm about to clock a grip (whoo) Do the math and count the months in a year n***a Gave your girl a yeast infection, I f**ed her and poured beer in her Less than a prophet, but more than a mere sinner Spit doper than Pookie smoking crack from car antennas My jaw invent a - nother n***as career, one hitta quitta Ras get better, you get bitter, hit her The homies like "Whats up?" And pop up in spots where gangstas throw they block up [Chorus] [Verse 3] f** that, I don't trick on hoes I only buy drinks, get em drunk Take 'em home, f** 'em wash my dick in the sink White T-shirt, blue jeans, black mink Red-eyed like green backs, fickle pink Platinum Visa, patrone gold, we could speak Talk about breaking bread, homes, we could eat No loot, kick rocks, hit the road, we could street Keep elite company, cause like when bum n***as hang on ya leg It's like a poodle dry humping me And like Nas say, "It's disgusting" I hate dick riders, f** 'em, end of discussion Trust me it's nothing, Ras must got another spine on his chest Cause you won't see me frontin' This real talk, like getting hit by a sawed-off gauge With more +Bucks+ then +Milwauk'+ [Chorus] [Outro] + (w/ "Y'all don't re-up like us" - til end) f** that, yeah what up n***as This ya boy Young Sippio k** 'em off Rasy f** that, yeah My thugs in the club, find a b**h wit a** f** that, yeah All my down a** b**hes bout making that cash Say "f** that", yeah Re-Up Entertainment, Independent We treat a major like f** that Yeah, getcha money, uh, f** that