RAF - A$AP Mob, A$AP Rocky, Playboi Carti

I done came up (yuh, ooh)

Bustin' down a whole bag (bag)

Broke nigga, step back (for what?)

Why don't you peep a nigga's swag?

(Yuh)

Ain't even gotta ask (for what?)

What are those?

What is that?

(Yuh)

Please, don't touch my Raf (please don't touch my Raf)

Please, don't touch my Raf (for what?)

I'm racked up, like rappers

I'm Raf'd up on camera

Get knocked out on camera

Squeeze pump, like asthma

It's rare Raf, when I wear Raf

Bare Raf, when I wear Raf

Might invest into some Raf shares

Lil' niggas still share Raf

Yeah and I'm drippin' on racks

Rick Owens be the tag

Do the digital dash

Yeah, I'm boastin', never brag

Please, don't touch my Raf

Bought a Kris Van Assche

Alessandro Gucci glasses

J.w.

Anderson collab

Yeah, she pop it like a Mac

Yeah, she drop it on the bag

I'ma buy another bag

'Cause she always bring it back

Yeah, you know how to make it last

Plus, a nigga keepin' tabs

I'ma fly first class

Quavo hit 'em with the dab

Please, don't touch my Raf

Ho, don't step on my Raf Simons (yah, Raf)

Ho, don't step on my Raf Simons (uh, Raf)

Ho, don't step on my Raf Simons (ooh)

Do you know how much I'm spendin'?

(Huh, ooh)

My closet it worth 'bout a milli' (milli', yeah, yeah)

Took the lil' bitch out the runway (yah, uh)

Now she naked in the kitchen (uh)

Raf Simons (ayy)

All kind of crazy colors (ayy, ayy)

Livin' color (colors)

Left wrist, Rollie butters (ice)

Maison Margiela my sweater (Margiela)

Mama told me never settle (mama)

Raf Simons, don't lace 'em (it's Raf)

Got your bitch wanna date him (ooh)

Huh?

What?

Don't want 'em talkin' 'bout the paper

I swear to God these niggas be haters (yah)

They be hatin', I feel all the vapors

Live in cul-de-sac, gon' get that lawn

Ooh, right with my neighbors (yeah)

Diamonds on my neck and Rollie on

Now Atlanta got all different flavors

Hit that bitch right on with my lightsaber

Ooh, feel like Darth Vader

I'm a boss, so you know, I might Wraith you

Ooh, Raf in my basement (yeah)

Yeah, pass the gas

Bet you know, that I'm gon' face it

Wait, that's the reason that they mad

'Cause Lil Uzi, yeah, he made it, yeah

I wore that Raf, 'fore I made it, yeah

I wore that Raf, 'fore I made it, yeah

Got that Raf all in my basement, yeah

Fuck your bitch once, ain't got patience, yeah (yeah)

Fuck your bitch once, 'cause I'm famous, yeah

Put my side bitch in Marc Jacobs, ayy

Makin' them plays with my label

I get it, I count it, hundred on my table (yeah)

We gon' need a bigger table, though

Need some cable, tired of watchin' basic

Wouldn't sign ya, if I had a label

That designer on a nigga label fuego

Down the bottle, still under the limit

I could buy your bitch, just off my debit

I could buy her, not fuck up my credit

Ain't no executives, flexin' my blessings

Ain't no middleman, cut in my blessings

I got all of this flick for the Lord's worship

You ain't slammin', got the Asperger's

I'ma drag that nigga, he deserve it

I'ma read his ass like a LaBeija

Anna Wintour cool with my mama

And it's winter, fool, need a bomber

Plate of ravioli at Obama's, right, right, right

(Can't you see I'm eating what's poppin'?)

Mix the ravioli, stuffed with diamonds, right, right?

(We don't have the same problems)

I get Raf Simons, 'cause I'm gifted

That means, sometimes they give it and don't even want it

Give Raf Simons, when I'm giftin'

That means sometimes I give it, you know that you want it

Sterling silver lasers (yessir)

Rubies red, my skin too black to blush

This bitch too rare to bust

Seen her in the iPhone pages

This ain't on the Gram, Wizard of OZ

Parka pockets full of mint leave

Guap is smelling like it brush teeth

Say cheese, see the porcelain

Sand and water, see swordfish

Backwoods all forestry

Raf draggin' on the

Floor, bitch

Flame thrower in it, in it

I'm torchin' the road in these Gucci flames

Stuck to the pavement, they glued

I'm two-point-five million a venue

And twenty-five hundred a tooth

I'm coatin' my lungs in the muddy

I'm cold like I'm sick with the flu

I cover my face and I'm bloody

That Spring/Summer 2002

Two, two, two, two, yeah

Please, don't touch my Raf

Sleep in the grass, Teddy

Sleep with the Teddy

Quick with the hands, ready

Please, don't touch my bag

Please, don't touch my Raf

Shirt off, I'm cam ready

Deadstock in memory

Please, don't pop my tag