[Intro: Raekwon (Sheek Louch) {Ghostface Killah}]
Yeah, yeah (what up, what up, what up) What is it, nigga? {Let me get a sip of that}
(It's that dark right here, you don't want none of this, light that) That's that super black, nigga
(What's good, though, fam?) {Ayo, 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} (Ayo, talk to them, Starks)
[Verse 1: Ghostface Killah]
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 bitch I got next
She fucking with robbers, don't wanna hear her pussy 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
Faggots did a dime, niggas too weak
For fun, shove a Suzy Q in they face
Let 'em smoke a rock with cake on they head in the gate (That's foul, Tone!)
He might die with a stem on him
Who give a fuck, I'm Larenz Tate on 'em
[Verse 2: Sheek Louch]
Crack spot stories, he put a kilo in the pan
I pulled out to break his hand until it came back tan
He dancing around the stove, Starks chilling in his robe
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 math
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
Yeah, yeah (what up, what up, what up) What is it, nigga? {Let me get a sip of that}
(It's that dark right here, you don't want none of this, light that) That's that super black, nigga
(What's good, though, fam?) {Ayo, 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} (Ayo, talk to them, Starks)
[Verse 1: Ghostface Killah]
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 bitch I got next
She fucking with robbers, don't wanna hear her pussy 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
Faggots did a dime, niggas too weak
For fun, shove a Suzy Q in they face
Let 'em smoke a rock with cake on they head in the gate (That's foul, Tone!)
He might die with a stem on him
Who give a fuck, I'm Larenz Tate on 'em
[Verse 2: Sheek Louch]
Crack spot stories, he put a kilo in the pan
I pulled out to break his hand until it came back tan
He dancing around the stove, Starks chilling in his robe
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 math
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
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