Re-Up Gang - Run This Shit lyrics

So grown on em, G4 flown on 'em
I'm Sherman Hemsley, George
When I stroll on 'em
On a track, scream like Rey Mo on 'em
But I'm back like a crow on 'em
Tarmac got the glow on 'em
Summer flow on 'em
In the past, George Jung had blow on him
Dirt cheap, copped for the low-low on 'em
Lil Jon, get low on 'em
In the car with top off
I catch a cold on 'em
And the jewels like a show on 'em
But trust he got the phone on him
I put a nigga in the sky
See his soul on him, no consolin' 'em
Go hard or go home on 'em
Conquer the game with a goal on 'em
I'm so bold on 'em
Scold on em when I scroll on 'em
The best writer since Hov on 'em
Now that's Nirvana, Dave Grohl
On 'em, the man, the music
To making a king, the crown
The heir to the throne on him

Neighborhood P nigga, don't get it fucked up
36 O's, still do the front tuck
How could you ever think that
Rap had me pumped up
When that powder white come
In by the dumptruck?
Hence my name and that six-figure chariot
The platinum chain
The charm full of fairy dust
Glow from the fist, either
Or, take a pic see
Each one of em right like ambidextrous wrists
We got it for cheap, that's the mantra
Nigga, fuck Zomba, I sell nose candy
Willy Wonka
Minus the top hat, take the top off of that
See my face, love my race, I'm young, gifted
And black
Rubber band money, Pyrex full of crack
Surrounded by the re-up
What's fuckin' with that?
We speakin a language, bang this
Platinum in the streets
Niggas love that I'm dope dealer famous

Re-Up Gang, we here to run this shit
Niggas know, they cannot fuck with this
Motivate, money, hoes and dope dealer cliques
For the low, yup! We still got them bricks

Once again, it is Sandman
Fat dad, show him a fat ass
Money in sandbags, like it from Baghdad
Off on back 4th, I got jetlagged
Dark green Bentley, think of a trash bag
You stuck with the garbage
End up in the trash can
Curbside, you know I ain't the one for
The asshole antics that gets one handed
The HK say, "Hey, he need casket"
The Uzi like, "Ooh-wee, who he, shooting"
Rapid fire, now that's your high air
Flat your tire
In life, you don't get no spare
Only thing in the trunk be you
A violent is the car, 16th floor
Fuckin' your broad
And I'm out, smokin' the best, chokin' a mess
With another bitch, gropin' her breasts
Waitin' for next

In that S4 bucket, attitude, "Fuck it"
Arm out the window
So you can see it clustered
Retract the sunroof and let the sun touch ya
Bumpin' Confessions
She got a thing for Usher
Oh, what a rush with 6 on the clutch
Got the engine screamin'
But all you hear is hush
Oh so appalling, the way I'm marauding
Through the industry with that
Silly ass jargon
My squadron, move brick like Mason
We are hip-hop's lost civilization
On the cover of Vibe
We like the new Death Row
And black turtlenecks in that Goldfinger row
V12 or better, me and little brother Push
Crack the whips on them horses
And tell them bitches "Mush"
On the rise, nigga, right before your eyes
You ain't even see it coming
Did you? You was probably high