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re-up gang - run this shit lyrics

[verse 1: ab-liva]
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 n-gga 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

[verse 2: pusha t]
neighborhood p n-gga, don’t get it f-cked 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
n-gga, f-ck zomba, i sell nose candy, w-lly 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 f-ckin’ with that?
we speakin a language, bang this, platinum in the streets
n-ggas love that i’m dope dealer famous

[hook: pusha t]
re-up gang, we here to run this sh-t
n-ggas know, they cannot f-ck with this
motivate, money, hoes and dope dealer cliques
for the low, yup! we still got them bricks

[verse 3: sandman]
once again, it is sandman
fat dad, show him a fat -ss
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 -ssh0l- 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, f-ckin’ your broad
and i’m out, smokin’ the best, chokin’ a mess
with another b-tch, gropin’ her br–sts, waitin’ for next

[verse 4: malice]
in that s4 bucket, att-tude, “f-ck it”
arm out the window, so you can see it cl-stered
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 -ss 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 b-tches “mush”
on the rise, n-gga, right before your eyes
you ain’t even see it coming, did you? you was probably high

[hook]

- re up gang lyrics

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