Wu-Block - Crack Spot Stories lyrics

[Intro: Raekwon (Sheek Louch) {Ghostface k**ah}] Yeah, yeah (what up, what up, what up) What is it, n***a? {Let me get a sip of that} (It's that dark right here, you dont want none of this, light that) That's that super black, n***a (What's good, though, fam?) {Aiyo, turn that tv up} (Come on, man, you right there) {Martin is on, right now, Martin on} (You got the remote) {We need new batteries for that remote, though} (Ah man) {Yeah} (Aiyo, talk to them, Starks) [Ghostface k**ah] Henny bottles everywhere, smelling like 'yac Bagging crack, sitting in the kitchen, wearing my mask Robe on, tailored made in Italy, new Gucci denim One slipper on, Brookstone, cushion In the barn, number seven, hugging my neck, yo, Kiss, yo, Rae Tell that yellow b**h I got next She f**ing with robbers, don't wanna hear her p**y sore like Tasha's, this is Starkers Crumbs hitting the floor, fiends clicking they bic lighters With Garfield eyeballs, pulling them all nighters Give me fifty push ups, give ya'll a little piece f*ggots did a dime, n***as too weak For fun, shove a Suzy Q in they face Let 'em smoke a rock with cake on they head in the gate He might die with a stem on him Who give a f**, I'm Larenz Tate on 'em [Sheek Louch] Crack spot stories, he put a kilo in the pan I was about to break his hand until it came back tan He dancing around the stove, Starks chilling in his rob My hard knock life, I could of wrote that for Hov' Shorty, give me a ginger ale and dutch masters Matter fact, hand me the phone I'm bout to order Casper's Fiends at the door, I'm too lazy to let 'em in Turkey sandwich, barbecue chips, ESPN Sitting on the couch, I'm just trynna do the match She got ten polo shirts, all she asking for is half Today was a good day, no one got shot No police or none of that, that's how it is in our spot, yeah [Raekwon] Pyrex boys fronting in Rolls Royce's I'm on the iPhone, leg back, examining choices Two types of coke, we in the bathroom, voting We like 'take it', helicopter waiting, we boating, yo Gangstas to the d**h of it, humbling villains A good hand chemist in twenty minutes, cake up and finish This for the hallways, the long days, me and my who*e, bagging up Shorty more razors and bring out the four aces Sit back, laughing with a stack and a clapper She spray up everything, we paying Pataki Drug house with no work there, the worst fear is never the thirst, yea But set up for to the first of the thirty first, disperse, yeah Beef, what, bring me a burger, ya The flame broilers jump out, one to your first beer So take that, over there Everything, everything, just stay out of max clear [Jadakiss] We got the trays up in 6E, that's usually where the God be Me, Kay and J-Bop, Cali J, and Rod Lee Bread clocking, all night, the heads knocking No feds, just Kevin Tighe or west watching Bagging up at the table, while we chit chat Past the Phillie, wash your hands 'fore you hit that Young n***as getting it, everybody G'd up Other n***as only made sales when we read up Motorola flip, burn out in the beeper White Katie and Rhonda, Stacey and Shaniqua Yeah, c**aine, weed and forties That's when I was a shorty, crack spot stories To Allah be the glory