Hands Up

"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 "Fuck 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" (Fuck 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

Fuck silver, we sport platinum and black

How platinum is that?

Snatch my album, from y'all capital saps

It's a motherfucking 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

Fuck a chinchilla, rock a rap nigga 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 shit, and slit the rap game's wrist

Fuck 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 motherfuckers, like you just don't care

(Hands up) Put your hands in the sky

2-11 nigga, your money or your life

(Hands up) Throw your hands in the air

And wave them motherfuckers, 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 nigga

Gave your girl a yeast infection, I fucked 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 niggas 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]

Fuck that, I don't trick on hoes

I only buy drinks, get em drunk

Take 'em home, fuck '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 niggas hang on ya leg

It's like a poodle dry humping me

And like Nas say, "It's disgusting"

I hate dick riders, fuck '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)

Fuck that, yeah what up niggas

This ya boy Young Sippio

Kill 'em off Rasy

Fuck that, yeah

My thugs in the club, find a bitch wit ass

Fuck that, yeah

All my down ass bitches bout making that cash

Say "Fuck that", yeah

Re-Up Entertainment, Independent

We treat a major like fuck that

Yeah, getcha money, uh, fuck that