Run This Shit

Okay! [Verse 1: Ab-Liva] So grown on em G4 flown on em [?] when I stroll on em On a track scream like Ray Mo' on em But im back like a crow on em Tarmac got the glow on em Summer flow on em In the past George Jones had blow on him Dirt cheap, copped for the low-low on em Lil Jon, get low on em In the car with top off Ah! Catch a cold on em And the jewels like a show on em But trust he got the phone on him I put a nigga in the sky, see his soul on him No console on em Go hard or go home on em Conquer the game with a goal on em We're so bold on em Scold on em when I scroll on em The best writer since Hov on em Now that's Nirvana, Dave Grohl on em The man, the music to making a king Crown the heir to the throne on him [Verse 2: Pusha T] Neighborhood P nigga, don't get it fucked up 36 O's, still do the front tuck How could you ever think that rap had me pumped up When the powder white come in by the dump truck Hence my name and that six-figure chariot The platinum chain, the charm full of fairy dust Glow from the fist either or take a pic see Each one of em right like ambidextrous wrists We got it for cheap, that's the mantra Nigga fuck Zomba, I sell nose candy, Willy Wonka Minus the top hat, take the top off of that See my face, love my race, I'm young gifted and black Rubber band money, Pyrex full of crack Surrounded by the re-up, what's fuckin' with that? We speakin a language, bang this Platinum in the streets Niggas love that I'm dope dealer famous [Hook: Pusha T] (x2) Re-Up Gang, we here to run this shit Niggas know, they cannot fuck with this Motivate, money, hoes and dope dealer cliques For the low, yup! We still got them bricks [Verse 3: Sandman] Once again it is Sandman Fat dad, show him a fat ass Money in sandbags, like it from baghdad Off on back 4th, I got jet lagged Dark green bentley, think of a trash bag Stuck with the garbage, then up in the trash can Curbside, you know I ain't the one for the asshole antics That gets one-handed The AK say, "Hey, he need casket" The Uzi like, "Ooh-wee, who he, shooting" Rapid fire, now that's your high air, flat your tire In life, you don't get no spare Only thing in the trunk be you A violent [?] is the car 16th floor, fuckin' your broad And I'm out, smokin' the best, chokin' a mess With another bitch, gropin' her breasts Waitin' for next [Verse 4: Malice] In that S4 bucket, attitude, "Fuck it" Arm out the window, so you can see it busted Retract the sunroof and let the sun touch ya Bumpin' Confessions, she got a thing for Usher Oh, what a rush With 6 on the clutch Got the engine screamin', but all you hear is hush Oh so appalling, the way I'm a [?] through the industry With that silly ass jargon My squadron, move brick like Mason We are hip hop's lost civilization On the cover of Vibe, we like the new Death Row And black turtlenecks in that Goldfinger row D12 or better, me and little brother Push Crack the whips on them horses, and tell them bitches "Mush" On the rise nigga, right before your eyes You ain't even see it coming, did you? You was prolly high [Hook]