Luxury Rap

[Verse 1: Raekwon] Uhh, yeah, what up, Lord? This the Terrordome, where niggas get tied up, Beretta blown Or whip the vanilla 200X Lebanon Doofie gauge, .38s, 300 rebels strong Out in Grenada, chilling snow pebbles on prosperous Hugh Heff's who fucking his steps Favorite color purple, we would circle the jets He talk base, in a I-8 racing clear doors we face In life, in trying to get away from these whores Or rolling uptown in gambling stores Stealing clothes in Macy’s, running out with like five, six Velours Thug couple Rugby boys who get fly and break jaws And take papes the stakes is yours [Verse 2: Fred The Godson] Rae told me victory's unexpected They hating on my chain, misery from a necklace See my YouTube and hear me spitting, know I'm reckless First nigga ever selling metaphors on Craig's List Fred shit, they on it, no matter what's the joint You the Hornets, you lost Chris Paul, what's your point? I could spit a freestyle and be on This beat feel like I should rhyme with some Wallabies on I would be wrong if I told everybody get your weight up It's back to the real shit, that wave up, phase up If he owe me dough, I hope that he pay up Hand on that trigger when that finger roll, he'll lay up, ha Wait up, just homicide humor I could've bodied you sooner, I just provided the rumor Whatever he rhyming on, I'll bring it to you I'm a phenomenon, Travolta with the tumor, Fred [Verse 3: JD Era] Blowing exotic kush, watermelon flavor, no seeds Burn it by the O-Z, imported from O-T Export it from T-O, salute to the OG Flips is high risk, but the moves is low key Young hustlers, dreaming about awards and tours The world is ours, and any store accepting the credit card Bought her: fly boosters, designer shades, and all that Hit it in the back, then fell back in the callback I’m busy chasing paper on the cash rule major All we do is see numbers like an old school pager Double your wager, we busy clocking like Flavor Time waits for no man, man don’t be a hater Land of opportunity, keep your mule and forty acres I’d rather forty mill and own a piece of the Lakers Dancing with devils, and two stepping with saints We young, black, and getting it, everything that you ain’t – ever