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RAS KASS : Hands Up lyrics

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

RAS KASS lyrics : "Hands Up"

[Intro]
"Y'all don't re-up like us"
"Y'all don't re-up like us"

"Y'all don't re-up like us"
(Want the whole world to say "$#&@ that")
"Ay! Y'all don't re-up like us" (Haha)

"Y'all don't re-up like us" (Easy enough right?)
"Y'all don't re-up like us" ($#&@ that!)
"Y'all don't re-up like us"

"Y'all don't re-up like us"
"Y'all don't re-up like us, ay!"
(Doctor know, state your name, gangsta, gangsta)


[Verse 1]
My new name is, Ras Gannon

L.A. Raiders, arm like cannon
Quarterback rap, improve your jewels
$#&@ silver, we sport platinum and black

How platinum is that?
Snatch my album, from y'all capital saps
It's a mother$#&@ing rap and

If I turn myself in, start serving my bid
I'm a show off my cell, on MTV Cribs (aha)
These ain't Air Force Ones, these GFF

Gianfranco Ferre, ostrich skin belt
$#&@ a chinchilla, rock a rap ^!$$% pelt
Hot to death, the boy touch flame it'll melt

Damn shame I got the short end of the stick
Cause I sharpened that %#@!, and slit the rap game's wrist
$#&@ that, Ras Kass the measure of all who claim to be nice

From the mic to the dice to the dikes

[Chorus]

(Hands up) Throw your hands in the air
And wave them mother$#&@ers, like you just don't care
(Hands up) Put your hands in the sky

2-11 ^!$$%, your money or your life
(Hands up) Throw your hands in the air
And wave them mother$#&@ers, like you just don't care

(Hands up) Put your hands in the sky
1-8-7, ya money or ya life


[Verse 2]
All I need is one mic, two 22's, three 80's
Four play five mama's of my babies, six 100 Mercedes

Seven summers locking the game like Jay-Z
Eight gangsters riding like my Bigg homie Tray Dee
Wit Dangerous Minds inflict, thinking bout flaming this nine

Ten in a clip, +Ocean's Eleven+, robbed the whole Vegas Strip
Judged by twelve, but oh well
If controversy sells, I'm about to clock a grip (whoo)

Do the math and count the months in a year ^!$$%
Gave your girl a yeast infection, I $#&@ed her and poured beer in her
Less than a prophet, but more than a mere sinner

Spit doper than Pookie smoking crack from car antennas
My jaw invent a - nother ^!$$%s career, one hitta quitta
Ras get better, you get bitter, hit her

The homies like "Whats up?"
And pop up in spots where gangstas throw they block up


[Chorus]

[Verse 3]

$#&@ that, I don't trick on hoes
I only buy drinks, get em drunk
Take 'em home, $#&@ 'em wash my dick in the sink

White T-shirt, blue jeans, black mink
Red-eyed like green backs, fickle pink
Platinum Visa, patrone gold, we could speak

Talk about breaking bread, homes, we could eat
No loot, kick rocks, hit the road, we could street
Keep elite company, cause like when bum ^!$$%s hang on ya leg

It's like a poodle dry humping me
And like Nas say, "It's disgusting"
I hate dick riders, $#&@ 'em, end of discussion

Trust me it's nothing, Ras must got another spine on his chest
Cause you won't see me frontin'
This real talk, like getting hit by a sawed-off gauge
With more +Bucks+ then +Milwauk'+


[Chorus]

[Outro] + (w/ "Y'all don't re-up like us" - til end)
$#&@ that, yeah what up ^!$$%s
This ya boy Young Sippio

Kill 'em off Rasy
$#&@ that, yeah
My thugs in the club, find a (*##$ wit $$#
$#&@ that, yeah
All my down $$# (*##$es bout making that cash

Say "$#&@ that", yeah
Re-Up Entertainment, Independent
We treat a major like $#&@ that
Yeah, getcha money, uh, $#&@ that

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