Raekwon

Raekwon - I Recall

rate me

I remember, I recall

I remember, I recall

I remember, I recall

I remember, all you said

Aiyo, yes sir, everything's a blessing, let the cess' splurge

Spill it in your hand, and let the s's turn

You got them wild style goons in the room, with nothing but coupes

And Pumas on, rugged beards, mean underwear

Fly in the day, high by night, money right

Solidified gangsta with his paintbrush writing

Catch me off Lenox, Spanish dip, vintage shit

Floating in the open, niggas smoking that shit, you know

Vanilla envelopes of cess, 20 bags of bless

Pissy drunk, in the project steps

Throwing dice, til the sun come out, guns come out

Trains through the 151 come out

Then it's back on the block, I'm running from the cops again

The old heads love me, asking when I'm gonna stop again

But, you know the law of the streets

How we gon' dick the freaks and what we do over beats, bitch

Yessa yessa, rap is under pressure

Had me, had 'em, hungry hoody, wearing hoods, come getcha

Four fetcha, eat tracks, Hannibal Lecter

Keep gats, Tony Jaa, still, I'm The Protector

Street speak, reach peeps, treat peeps aggressive

Smif-N-Wessun, Chef connection, nothing less than perfection

Peace number 7, God Degree's the lesson

Equality's the evanescense for my peeps in the essence

Fresh mohawk, run up in the gun store, blow off

Jump in the couple, sled range, my dame blow off

Bamboo need for the go, it's like chilly

Don't be silly, my niggas pop wheelies for dough

I tell you the first time, I ever laid hands on a pussy

Smack Earth, Wind & Fire out of jazz, pussy

That's when niggas learned to respect my army

Respect my gun and recognize me as a don

Listen, I tell no lies, spread no rumors

Have your whole family smothered, taking me for humor

Get your laugh from elsewhere, your bricks from right here

You bleed just like I bleed, so it's no fear

Aiyo, flatten niggas, what's happening, rap niggas from Staten

Gat chunky nine, bullets sitting in napkin

Ready to pop your lid off, lay low in Manhattan

Stop fronting, buttons get pressed, we jabbed 'em, tagged 'em

Get this song at:  amazon.com  sheetmusicplus.com

Share your thoughts

0 Comments found