What's Up? - Clipse

For my hustlas, play the part, I’m a smuggler;

This is to my jugglers, get it out to the customers

645 Ci them hoes loving us…

For my hustlas, play the part, I’m a smuggler

This is to my jugglers, get it out to the customers

645 Ci them hoes loving us

But I felt the top would smother us-

So I got the roof transplanted, so now that the sun’s touchin' us

Plus the inside was a coach, love it or comfort us

Sitting on blades, like Shaq’s shoes is up under us

Came a long way from that thing — for $ 25, 5

Taped up under the muffler I move it with my Southerner niggas

That rep they hood, puttin on they struggl-les

I, get it-I grab it-I cook it-I move it-I sell it;

See it-I cop it-I drop it-I chrome it-I shell it

I unveil it;

I switch lanes, left hand, turn, «burn, baby, burn!»

Nights watch the arms hail it

Complimented the drama-sale is augmented

Still says «classy» no matter what the frost think

S-L be the coupe;

roof off the drop

Neck out the top, look at me—Jack-In-The-Box!

You actin' a lot;

you ain’t Big, you ain’t Pac

And we only respect J. Prince for rapping alot

Your reign on the top, never quote him, I ain’t owe him

If you ain’t kissed his mama how the fuck you ride fo' him?

You dick-eating niggas probably wish to die fo' him

And I admired his work, but I ain’t never cried fo' him!

Hoping the dead blow 'em up, maybe this will grow 'em up

150K every time Pusha showin' up!

Shimmerin' hand, shimmerin' band, I’m Glimmer Man;

Chain star-studded like it’s Viva-La-Glam!

You niggas «Jackass» like Viva-La-Bam

Looked down upon like KRS did to Shan

I’m one thousand grams wrapped neat in Saran

Label me landlord, I keep Kis in my hand

This ain’t shit but vicious, physics

Just nod to how we livin', listen

Black Cards is in position, shiftin'

Give it to 'em, this money mission, idiot

WASSUP, WASSUP, WASSUP?

REEE-UP!

WASSUP, WASSUP, WASSUP?

Re-Up, Re-Up!

Wha-wha-wha, wha-wha, wassup?

REEE-UP!

R-E-U-P, Re-Up, Re-Up!

Picture me rollin', Glock that I’m holdin'

Poppin' you open, stoppin' the jokin'

Shit, drop in your colon, pissin' your denim

This is ya endin', couldn’t prevent it

Bitches from «Waa!"ming — fuck boiii!

You know wassup wit MCs galore

Cold-hearted, I could freeze velour

Make you breathe no more

I take heart like the Reaper’s Kiss

But it’s this heat, I’mma greet ya wit: «How ya doing?»

Stop the movement, I’m a mood swing, wrapped up

If you blink wrong, I’mma clap ya

I pause ya squad;

standin' ovation

I broaden the score, no hesitation;

Show me an idiot, I show you demonstration

Easy evaporation, MC annihilation

I’m toleratin', all the fakin' so I’m takin'

Needed, you see it’s blatant

Intro-du-cing the Re-Up Gang

The montage, the renaissance, the re-birth, the avant-garde

Chopard the arm, the car’s the Arnage

Deal with the whip, follow the brick, I am Oz;

Oh yes, the wizadry, fire-to-pot chemistry

The coke call straight to they soul like a ministry;

Like it it or not — we kick in the door, we dig in the lock

And still toss a Big in the pot

Cop the sorbet, straight from Jorge

Jack-of-all-trades, even mastered the gourmet, unh!

Plus the price got the street tongue-in-cheek

Cook it till it’s aldente;

muah, magnifique!

Black Card the Era, we got in the bag

Y’all niggas ain’t a factor, like Trinidad’s jab

I’m back like Zab;

Re-Up, the avenger and

Recite these Ghetto Hymns and regard:

I’m the Scripture, nigga

This ain’t shit but vicious, physics

Just nod to how we livin', listen

Black Cards is in position, shiftin'

Give it to 'em, this money mission, idiot

WASSUP, WASSUP, WASSUP?

REEE-UP!

WASSUP, WASSUP, WASSUP?

Re-Up, Re-Up!

Wha-wha-wha, wha-wha, wassup?

REEE-UP!

R-E-U-P, Re-Up, Re-Up!

Niggas know, the lyrical molesting is takin' place

Fuckin with Sincere P, it ain’t safe;

Drop head: coupe, with the new, paper plates

Ostrich creams, or the new, gator bait

Niggas be actin' brand new, like an openin'

Fuckin' headache;

don’t let them get the still mocherin'

The heart of a marksman is cold like Minnesotta when it is broke

So therefore he wants to spend, like Oprah spent

So you gon' be hard, or you gon' play cho-cha then?

Maybe you should just re-focus and not approach us then;

Cuz it’s gon' be mo' than just a blow across the chin

Separate your suit from ya soul like a moccasin

You’re so flowed up, looked down like «really?»

Cuz I’m so short, so icy, lIke the penguin Chilly Willy

So glittery, but he ain’t know my position, see

Hit him the clip, it went «brrrip!», with a .50 piece

See, I’m a nice guy — I woulda rewrote history

Boy car flippin' like chicken, just like rotisserie

«That's fucked up!»

— that’s ya gift to me…"Huh?"

Look familiar, niggas, all the label drama coming to an end:

Clipse coming soon, tell a friend