Raekwon, Busta Rhymes - Baggage Handlers lyrics

You got to be kiddin', five hundred?
Who you think we are, baggage handlers?
The goin' rate on a boat
Is a thousand a night, man
You know that
(first you got to work your way up to 500
Cedigo)
Ok, what I did for you guys in Freedomtown
What was that?

Return of the kitchen kid, with the axe
All I know is real detail, coke
Lasagna and them E pills
Million dollar merchandise, we on
Get ya groove back
A hundred yukons, we all moving crack
All my soldiers got big rank, pa
Sicily money
Y'all had a bitch that got pregnant in Iraq
What's the movement? Superman money
In the Ooh building
A few dudes who make a lotta
Rules sayin' 'you get it'
Right, wavy hair, all my niggas is polic'
You stay off the roof, or jakes see the crib
No snitchin', this Amityville detention
Might fuck around, get caught, or shot down
Play position
Yeah, here they come, sizin' them up
You know my status
This is raw way, lookin' in his eyes
And he butt
Yo, what's happenin'? I heard you
Got the streets back, captain
Yup, all niggas is dead
Unless they team clappin' something
He felt the generals plans, recognize
We going all out
I might throw three in his man
Had the slick look, looking all Cubaned up
Don't get it twisted, nigga we'll
Swiss swish you up, what?

From all day to morn', noon, night
Recognize we gotta re-up
(Yo, it's Cuban Link 2, motherfucker)
You all listen, pay attention
Word to the team, we gonna key up
(Yo, it's Cuban Link 2, motherfucker)
Get ya birds off, playground
Yo, stay out my business, you gon' see us
(Yo, it's Cuban Link 2, motherfucker)
For all them real Cash
Rule Everything Around Me
Niggas get y'all stee up
(Yo, it's Cuban Link 2, motherfucker)

The kid that endorse Maxmaris
Shorty show support
Take your sweatpants off, fix your mascara
Four hundred nineteen ounces
Out in Long Island
Twelve strong bitches that's real
Who not scared of housing
Yes, throw on them raccoon
Chinchilla feathers let it drag on my boots
The jean burned leather
Jog through the back of the building
Drop the L
Got the scope on your nosey ass mother
Fuckin' up sales
Forty karat locked in, bowtie
Chillin' at the Democrat party
Yo, Chef, your coat, got it poppin'
Coming soon, Purple Tape
Circle up the city let 'em know I'm back
Four hundred bricks, and yup, the kids stance
Sponsored by my cousin in Stan', maintainin'
Got the call from Tony Young Montana
My son campaignin'
Yup, I'm not no fuckin' bellboy
I war anything out there
The ring is mine, you can tell Roy
That's when I was hit with the call
Your whole motto is get tour
Drug rap owner, you will rip all
Live like the pope, and get a big hall
Flipped them a claren, the front
Like the Jag back like the store

From all day to morn', noon, night
Recognize we gotta re-up
(Yo, it's Cuban Link 2, motherfucker)
You all listen, pay attention
Word to the team, we gonna key up
(Yo, it's Cuban Link 2, motherfucker)
Get ya birds off, playground
Yo, stay out my business, you gon' see us
(Yo, it's Cuban Link 2, motherfucker)
For all them real Cash
Rule Everything Around Me
Niggas get y'all stee up
(Yo, it's Cuban Link 2, motherfucker)

Yea, we back in the motherfuckin' staircase
Nigga
You know that kid is coming, Cuban Linx
Nigga louis Rich, the signature, bitch
(Every dog has his day, huh, Mel?
You wanna job Ernie? Ok, then
You call me tomorrow)