Re-Up Intro

[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 Fuck the shit out your girl, let the city watch us Hit her with the Dougie like Cam'ron Move bitch, move bitch; throw that shit, my jam's on White Lambo, hear them fans blow Black interior, I's a modern day Sambo So niggerish, they flow's frivolous Tickle us pink like white girl clitoris Fuckin' the game up, Re-Up, them niggas deceive ya We get 'em for thirteen fiva, we don't believe ya My reputation carry stripes in hood, I am Zebra Fucker! Neither, you nor your man's my caliber I challenge ya, the cocaine 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 bitch ass on my uno You know, shits from the two blow All other niggas faces We take all other niggas 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, pussy When I'm around take it back in the house, pussy And I'm flossin' too Big drawn with an igloo arm that's blue Sky-like, I'm high like giraffe ass Crack ass, Re-Up What y'all mad at? [Verse 3: Malice] This ain't nothin' but candy from a baby I sell that shit, got 'em stuck since the 80's Y'all ain't even thinkin' 'bout stickin' to format Y'all niggas tellin' through ohh'n like whore 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, nigga 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 nigga Got lil' bad bitches 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