"Surgical Gloves" lyrics
[Raekwon:]
Eight million stories, nigga
Take y'all niggas somewhere, man
Y'all niggas never heard niggas rhyme like this before, man
This ain't no Wizard of Oz shit neither, man
For real, man
Ayo
Surgical gloves, snubs in the grass with his blood
"Homie, hold that", the four black
We black down, Gold Jag'
Ol' laughing, yo, "Yo, what the fuck happened?"
"They clapped him in the scalp, it flew that way"
"Yo, why they capped him?" It went through his lap
Snatched his Audemars Piguet, took his man gold, get at
He painted it, slayed blocks, aiming it, hit a child
This is foul, but he styled with his flamer, flaming shit
Teddy with the red Range, supercharged Kangols
Rae and Ghost CD in his change, yo
Angel, Spanish kid lingo, all I know is where he hang, though
Kept it sideways, angle
Good brush, tough talk, keep it real, daddy, got them thing-os
I respect on how the game goes
The same goes for get-fresh niggas, test niggas
Extra blessed niggas with them egos
We blow you out your peacoats
Ha-ha, ah, dios míos, we get them twelve a ki, yo
Keep it moving, slide off in the G-Os
"Freeloaders, the D's over
Your shit won't sell no more, breeze over"
Money, gear, drugs, guns, Goodyears
All my niggas sit, smelling the tears
Cooking snow white, it's just the poor life
Never living off fear, we all millionaires, now where my shares?
(Money) You know the code, drug money, gear money, baby
(Money) You know we fold the stash holders, cash blowers, yeah
(Money) So when the D's come, we float and grab the boats, yeah
(Money) Spend off, I got my win off, have a potent year
Yeah, X6 is red, up in Albany with the dreads
Bags of black, fuck the feds, papers in Arubas
Gold tuba from Bermuda in my living room spreads
Cameras, action, got the calico cranked
"Where the food at?" Hood jewelry on, I gots to do that
Long-chain hatchet flooded up, you knew that
Baby blue Mac, stones on the nozzle stick
Bulletproof Broccos with the Jew bitches, all I got is two cracks
Gazelle lenses, clear rude wraps, bagging every Ziploc
And my peoples sit around, cops split that
High potent white Kit-Kats, we sell up in the hood
Going door to door, every floor, every get back
My gangster shit, get gats, for every man
"Here go a gram
Meet me by my drophead and drop your lid back"
Forty-seven quick claps (Spray off on something)
Money, gear, drugs, guns, Goodyears
All my niggas sit, smelling the tears
Cooking snow white, it's just the poor life
Never living off fear, we all millionaires, now where my shares?
(Money) You know the code, drug money, gear money, baby
(Money) You know we fold the stash holders, cash blowers, yeah
(Money) So when the D's come, we float and grab the boats, yeah
(Money) Spend off, I got my win off, have a potent year
Spray on one of y'all, man
Streets is mine, nigga
You know what we do, for real
Straight up
It's how we playing right now, man
'Cause the streets, man
Streets is making y'all niggas see, man
But some of y'all is blind
For real
Eight million stories, nigga
Take y'all niggas somewhere, man
Y'all niggas never heard niggas rhyme like this before, man
This ain't no Wizard of Oz shit neither, man
For real, man
Ayo
Surgical gloves, snubs in the grass with his blood
"Homie, hold that", the four black
We black down, Gold Jag'
Ol' laughing, yo, "Yo, what the fuck happened?"
"They clapped him in the scalp, it flew that way"
"Yo, why they capped him?" It went through his lap
Snatched his Audemars Piguet, took his man gold, get at
He painted it, slayed blocks, aiming it, hit a child
This is foul, but he styled with his flamer, flaming shit
Teddy with the red Range, supercharged Kangols
Rae and Ghost CD in his change, yo
Angel, Spanish kid lingo, all I know is where he hang, though
Kept it sideways, angle
Good brush, tough talk, keep it real, daddy, got them thing-os
I respect on how the game goes
The same goes for get-fresh niggas, test niggas
Extra blessed niggas with them egos
We blow you out your peacoats
Ha-ha, ah, dios míos, we get them twelve a ki, yo
Keep it moving, slide off in the G-Os
"Freeloaders, the D's over
Your shit won't sell no more, breeze over"
Money, gear, drugs, guns, Goodyears
All my niggas sit, smelling the tears
Cooking snow white, it's just the poor life
Never living off fear, we all millionaires, now where my shares?
(Money) You know the code, drug money, gear money, baby
(Money) You know we fold the stash holders, cash blowers, yeah
(Money) So when the D's come, we float and grab the boats, yeah
(Money) Spend off, I got my win off, have a potent year
Yeah, X6 is red, up in Albany with the dreads
Bags of black, fuck the feds, papers in Arubas
Gold tuba from Bermuda in my living room spreads
Cameras, action, got the calico cranked
"Where the food at?" Hood jewelry on, I gots to do that
Long-chain hatchet flooded up, you knew that
Baby blue Mac, stones on the nozzle stick
Bulletproof Broccos with the Jew bitches, all I got is two cracks
Gazelle lenses, clear rude wraps, bagging every Ziploc
And my peoples sit around, cops split that
High potent white Kit-Kats, we sell up in the hood
Going door to door, every floor, every get back
My gangster shit, get gats, for every man
"Here go a gram
Meet me by my drophead and drop your lid back"
Forty-seven quick claps (Spray off on something)
Money, gear, drugs, guns, Goodyears
All my niggas sit, smelling the tears
Cooking snow white, it's just the poor life
Never living off fear, we all millionaires, now where my shares?
(Money) You know the code, drug money, gear money, baby
(Money) You know we fold the stash holders, cash blowers, yeah
(Money) So when the D's come, we float and grab the boats, yeah
(Money) Spend off, I got my win off, have a potent year
Spray on one of y'all, man
Streets is mine, nigga
You know what we do, for real
Straight up
It's how we playing right now, man
'Cause the streets, man
Streets is making y'all niggas see, man
But some of y'all is blind
For real
Writer(s): Corey Woods, Alan Maman
