Sandman - Re-Up Intro lyrics

[Pusha-T:] Yughk! Young obnoxious, hand on our crotches Swagger outta this world call us the Diddy boppers f** the sh** out ya girl, let the city watch us Hit her with the dougie like Cam'ron — Move b**h, move b**h, throw that sh**, my jam's on White Lambo; hear them fans blow! Black interior, I's a modern day Sambo So n******gish, they flows frivolous Tickle us pink like white girl cli*oris f**ing the game up, Re-Up Them n***as deceive ya, we get 'em for 13 fever We don't believe ya My reputation carry stripes in hood, I am zebra f**er! Neither, you nor ya man's my caliber I challenge ya, the c**aine balancer We hear you from afar, I'm silencer, Neighborhood P [Sandman:] Dig it — I'm in a rage like Cujo Y'all wanna wrestle, play sumo Merk yer b**h a** on my uno You know — shots from the two blow Flush all other n***a faces We take other n***as' places, 'cuse us! No excuses, lame like Confucius! Don't confuse us, we really do this! Re-Up's ruthless, ain't much to prove this! Two clips, not Pusha and Mal The two holding the rounds The click-clack and the pow, p**y! Talk foul, get slapped in ya mouth, p**y! When I'm around, take it back out of the house, p**y! And I'm flossing too, big charm wit a igloo, R & S blue Sky like, I'm high like, giraffe a** Crack hash, Re-Up, what y'all mad at? [Malice:] This ain't nothing but candy from a baby; I sell that sh**! Got 'em stuck since the '80s Y'all ain't even thinking about sticking to format; Y'all n***as telling, "oo-oo"ing like Horshack Singing with the band, with snares and hi-hats And it ain't slow us, no we kept hunting for more crack! We ain't holla back, n***a we holla Black! Card Era, second coming taking ya back And it's a known fact y'all tired of the circus So come home where you smell the crack in the verses! The whole rap world watched the Clipse take a bow We left it in ya hands, you ain't make Father proud! None of y'all can copy—a hard act to follow We was cursed with the spirit of verses, the stigmata! Suicide bomb ya, like Mohamed Atta Or the doors on that Phantom, Re-Up, we rap martyrs what? [Ab-Liva:] Black Card Exclusive, member of the secret society: It's not just music that I barter with Tape tight on the soft ya chef to get harder with Art of it, mastered the flame that they solder with Young'un you could learn — Liva Coach Carter it! I was a part of it, loiter in the wool Ritz thirty paces from work, I thirty grand, two shirts "Chez a Re-Va jeux tee" scribbled in the wool stitch Three quarter blazer; Sharp like a single edge razor on them gemstars Breaking that beige up Now I'm an arm left of the best as we conquest The rest of the rap game, you listen in vain n***a Got lil' bad b**hes Emilio Pucci; Sitting on blades like Christie Yamaguchi In the SL two-seat; six-inch heels by Gucci; When a player land ma scoop me No luggage I shopped in, California sun on my skin As the rocks blind traffic that I'm in I'm Magic with pen; I'm Jordan in the booth; I'm 'Melo with the flow; Lebron I'm the truth