Raekwon - Ill Figures Lyrics
(feat. M.O.P. & Kool G Rap)[Intro: Raekwon]When I write my lyrics, it's like, it's likeI want my shit to be phat, I want people to be able to understandYo, Anybody can rhyme, youknowhatimsayingBut it's what you saying that makes a person know about youKnowhatimsaying, you know the type of person you isSo it's like really, I'm just more of justBeing a street narrator (aiyo, what up, famo?)[Raekwon:]Reefer lit, love hip hop, the gangstas got me like the broccoliBrooklyn baby cooling at a swat meetReal niggas wanna meet me, ladies wanna eat meMoney clean Mercedes claim, baby, beat meLove getting dressed up, sweats and techsRide around the hood, good, getting Gotti respectHand is golden, an OG rolling and holding, yoFresh kicks, soft leather, pockets is swollenLet my jam hit your tape deck, it's straight up, and made upFor every real nigga with his gun on him, hate upFlying through the city nights, new flightsBlue ice, hundred thousand in a Nike bag, licenseDrug shop, I'm sorry, Atari in the FerrariNext see the Lex A Shallah, La Tam'paEating yo, all of us, scamma gangstasYou know we honor, tip the kangol, cooling in the brown vengos[kung fu sample]I have never, giving up on a missionThat's against my honor[Lil' Fame:]Duke let me warn you, my niggas crip upThem young boys'll run up on you, shoot your whip upBrooklyn, nigga, beg for you lifeAnd my Staten Island homeys lay your ass down on Glaciers of IceSidewalk executives, live the street life consecutiveWe built for this, go for your gunMy prospective is, another day in the life, of money and drugsBig hammers and slugs, can get ugly as *****[Billy Danze:]From the chest to your man Danze, eyStaten Island, said what up, yo, eyThe homey ODB said what up, though, eyWe got the Chef on deck as if you didn't knowIt's sharp as *****, Wu, that's what upPack it up, wanna rap, wanna rock, what up?Wanna pop, get up, ***** around and get your block hit upBring your team and we'll box 'em upThink M.O.P. is not what up[kung fu sample:]It seems I'm a bit late hereDon't worry, these men are all gonna die[Kool G. Rap:]See from the side where it slum at, dum at, rum atCognac, combat, contact, contrastCrom's packing out like Beyonce backShe bang out a song like the Fonz backBigger things, bring the slangs, slicker than the sharpest penNigga here, combat, sweet dick Willie T, Rudy Ray Moore gameWoodgrain all in the board reigns, before rain floodedLike storm drains, boss man, bundling raw 'caineFours bang, neighborhood war gamesGet your weight up, you looking anarexicPosted on the block proper with the hammer vested***** came with empty hands, that's the hand she left withThirsty ass with the water and it sounded desperateBreak a white an hour, based it forty grand investedLive within the third rail, you know the man electricShit was like the third world, until I handle metrics, that next shit
