Re-Up Intro

[Intro: Pusha-T] R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G R-E-U-P-G-A-N-G R-E-U-P, yuugh! [Verse 1: Pusha-T] Young, obnoxious, hand on our crotches Swagger 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 (Like...) White Lambo (Yes!), hear them fans blow Black interior, I's a modern day Sambo So nigga-ish, they flows frivolous Tickle us pink like white girl clitoris Fuckin' the game up, Re-Up, them niggas deceive ya We get 'em for thirteen-fever! We don't believe you! My reputation carry stripes in hood, I am Zebra Fucker! Neither you nor your man's my caliber I challenge you, the cocaine balancer We hit you from afar, I'm silencer (Ye-awh, can-non!) Neighborhood 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 Shots from the two blow, flush all other niggas faces We take all other niggas places, 'scuse us No excuses, slain 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, pussy Talk foul, get slapped in your mouth, pussy When I'm around, take it back in the house, pussy And I'm flossing, too Big charm with an igloo, Hermés blue Sky-like, I'm high like giraffe ass Crack, hash, Re-Up, what y'all mad at? [Verse 3: Malice] This ain't nothing but candy from a baby I sell that shit, got 'em stuck since the 80s Y'all ain't even thinking 'bout sticking to format Y'all niggas telling, "ooh!-ooh!"-ing like Horshack Singin' with the band with snares and hi-hats And it ain't slow us none, we kept hunting for more crack We ain't holler back, nigga, we holler Black... Card Era, second coming, taking you 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 your 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 you, 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 you 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 Woolrich Thirty paces from work, of thirty-grand, two shirts "Cesare Paciotti" scribbled in the wool, stitched Three-quarter blazer, sharp like a single-edge razor Or 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 in 'Milio 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 the pen; I'm Jordan in the booth I'm Melo with the flow; Lebron; I'm the truth [Outro: Pusha-T] Yeah, niggas! Re-Up Gang! It's the R-E U-P G-A-N-G! We Got It 4 Cheap, Volume 2! The Black Card Era! You know! Reminisce, '9-9, to this one Remember? Whole lotta rapping, no deals Trunk and the wheel like Aspen Looking like a million motherfucking crushed Aspirin! Live niggas respect it Come on!