Re-Up Gang - Daytona 500 lyrics
[Re-Up Gang - Daytona 500 lyrics]
One two, y’all one two, y’all
One two, y’all yeah, Cannooon (Dig it)
Am I ever so ready?
Flow heavy, gon’ break the Richter scale
We up, Re-Up, got that in, raw and thin
Underground, bin by bin and in tin by tin
Turned will into drive to win, into the wheel
That the driver’s in, speed cracker
Pink neck like lobster skin, open the door
The R-E-U-P emerges, the royal four
Crown prince, head wizard to the oils of ore
Became accustomed to the spoils of war
Blue light special, cop for the low-low
Customary top is a no no
Medina hot-stepping on Manolos
If you ain’t got mojo with oatmeal interior
The rarest of diamonds, mined in Nigeria
The fairest of them all
You can ask the mirror
Driver’s side of that GT
It couldn’t be clearer
Haters, don’t hear ‘em, cross me
Won’t spare ‘em
Shots tear ‘em apart, the pallbearer
Wakes, et cetera, cape, irregular, fate
Competitors face berettas
Tryna stay ahead of us
Platinum bezel and band, man
That’s just the regulars
Just another reason to make
Them hoes treasure us admiring the splendor
Scared ‘cause she remember
How a dope dealer had ruined
The life of Kemba
I was on with a blender and
I was gone ’til November
And I was torn but I render
’cause I was lured by the tender
The money, the cars, the fame, the bitches
The name the glistening chain, the wrist
Blitzing the game, i’m frostbit
Like it ain’t cost shit
You see what’s on the wrist
Put it to your ear, nigga
You don’t hear it tick
All you hear is click fucking with the clique
Like the Louie chess board
Re-up is the court shit
Man, fuck that horseshit, the hardships
I been through ‘em
Brazilians and Benzes, I spend through ‘em
Chameleon, I blend in as hog shit
Black Card shit, pussy, that’s that bomb shit
Pour Cris down her throat ’til the whore sick
Yellow rappers hit the floor
Give ‘em jaundice
The fondest flows, an arm that glows
Four niggas in a row, ’86, pompous pose
Street-smart savvy, no conscious flows
I sell shit, nigga, to taunt
Your nose, the man, the music
The making, the king, the crown, the heir
My spot is sewed, take my place, nigga
‘pon the throne
The game has grown, the charters have flown
South Beach Miami, where we toast Patron
The home with the statue, etched marble stone
Ship kis to the states via Boca Raton
One two, y’all yeah, Cannooon (Dig it)
Am I ever so ready?
Flow heavy, gon’ break the Richter scale
We up, Re-Up, got that in, raw and thin
Underground, bin by bin and in tin by tin
Turned will into drive to win, into the wheel
That the driver’s in, speed cracker
Pink neck like lobster skin, open the door
The R-E-U-P emerges, the royal four
Crown prince, head wizard to the oils of ore
Became accustomed to the spoils of war
Blue light special, cop for the low-low
Customary top is a no no
Medina hot-stepping on Manolos
If you ain’t got mojo with oatmeal interior
The rarest of diamonds, mined in Nigeria
The fairest of them all
You can ask the mirror
Driver’s side of that GT
It couldn’t be clearer
Haters, don’t hear ‘em, cross me
Won’t spare ‘em
Shots tear ‘em apart, the pallbearer
Wakes, et cetera, cape, irregular, fate
Competitors face berettas
Tryna stay ahead of us
Platinum bezel and band, man
That’s just the regulars
Just another reason to make
Them hoes treasure us admiring the splendor
Scared ‘cause she remember
How a dope dealer had ruined
The life of Kemba
I was on with a blender and
I was gone ’til November
And I was torn but I render
’cause I was lured by the tender
The money, the cars, the fame, the bitches
The name the glistening chain, the wrist
Blitzing the game, i’m frostbit
Like it ain’t cost shit
You see what’s on the wrist
Put it to your ear, nigga
You don’t hear it tick
All you hear is click fucking with the clique
Like the Louie chess board
Re-up is the court shit
Man, fuck that horseshit, the hardships
I been through ‘em
Brazilians and Benzes, I spend through ‘em
Chameleon, I blend in as hog shit
Black Card shit, pussy, that’s that bomb shit
Pour Cris down her throat ’til the whore sick
Yellow rappers hit the floor
Give ‘em jaundice
The fondest flows, an arm that glows
Four niggas in a row, ’86, pompous pose
Street-smart savvy, no conscious flows
I sell shit, nigga, to taunt
Your nose, the man, the music
The making, the king, the crown, the heir
My spot is sewed, take my place, nigga
‘pon the throne
The game has grown, the charters have flown
South Beach Miami, where we toast Patron
The home with the statue, etched marble stone
Ship kis to the states via Boca Raton