Lyrics
[Verse 1: Prodigy]
Nobody can't stop our reign
I don't bend, I don't break
Too much dough to ever go broke
Too much flow, I'm not no fluke
Too much champagne to use flutes
I'm straight from the bottle like a genie hoop
Grant you death wishes
I don't dance, I just do this
Burn it down, I smell Piff
I'm posted up
Like an advertisment for a gangsta flick
She like that, I'm smoother
She's used to dudes trying to seduce her
I tell her straight up let's move towards the exit
So I can put her high-heeled shoes up
On the roof of the hard head coupe
She want me for me, and you for loot
You goof troop, I mob
Throughout the globe, you're a local star
Stay in your lane and get folded
Wrapped up like tour bus promotion
You're a flop, when your album drop
It's like dropping a brick into the ocean
About this track
"R.I.P." is a song by Prodigy from the album Albert Einstein , released in 2013. The song was written by Adrian Younge, Havoc, Prodigy, Raekwon, The Alchemist. It was produced by Adrian Younge, The Alchemist.
Contributors
More from this album
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Artist
Prodigy →Album
Produced by Adrian Younge, The Alchemist
R-A-W
[Verse 2: Havoc]
Daytime drama, niggas get soaked
Washed up good, blood stained clothes
I'm OD reckless
Out of left field my team'll just wet this
You ain't gotta like it but respect it
You ain't gotta fight it, just let it
What's good, everything Gucci 'til
I gotta give to them raw like sushi bill
Nigga get his kufi pealed
I'm that nigga, bitches choose me still
And them same hoes ya'll niggas open off
Left my penthouse with a swollen jaw
I'm everything you can't be it's hopeless
Like a penny with a hole in it, oh shit
Worthless, and I'm just perfect
On purpose, Hav at your service
R-A-W
[Verse 3: Raekwon]
Any towels out there B?
Bring your album out nigga
Come on B
I'm foul with a gorgeous neck
Dusted and style, a half moon caesar
Al protect me
Bruce Lee glasses in the Aston
Sniffing a half a glass of Coke
Wild out for last year
Money stronger, Benz longer
Jetting to the Teeter Barrel
Two sprinters along
Ghost catch me in your pocket
Other than that, up in the stockage
Wool ridge jacket on the pop bitch
No funny money, my bunny Colombian
Thick back, grey eyes, and she got no stomach
Pull out the wiper and sweep
Drop it out the window
My kin'll blow you right to sleep
We professionals dickhead, grabbing our testicles
Who wanna battle, bring your burners and geckos
I'm sure to have fun on you young niggas
I'm not a hater, or can't stand on my man to man 'em
Lyrics provided by LRCLIB
