Get Outta Here Songtext
von Raekwon ft. Ghostface Killah

Frank G
Yeah
Brolic shit, brolic shit, nigga
It′s billionaire rap, nigga
Ayo, ayo
The ring is nine carats up
I get struck for bucks
Success is it, pa
Now move what's up
Counting and creeping
Buried money I smoke frequent
Pope of the dope, you know what beat, kid
You play the vests and the S′s
My shooter named Jerome with Louies on resting, lived successfully
Plying and puffing, the steering wheel cush and comfy
My pull is up
Niggas would slump me still
We at The Mirage, seven suitcases is nothing
My bitch in go ahead, she do the hunting, yo
Rob a few birds, escape with some ones we blunting


These little trick niggas watch who you front with
Playing sadies in the Mercedes, gleaming with the
Navy blue stragglers from Orchard to Black Macy's
Funds is monstrous, few grenades, we 40 drinkers, no chasers
Upping sensation on vacation and lamping, shades down
Peace to my niggas all caged down
With devilishment around, I'm sending sage out
Grass is greener, the glass is cleaner
Dirty fingernails with guns fresh out of Medina
Tams and gooses, the old school version of the cool
Kids who stay strapped and trap where the tools live
Party with a juice giving
Trunk loads of PCP
We sending this fucking message to DC
It′s like I′m stuck in that bill bill, confidential
Bodies in the projects over homies who got spilled
Gold tassels, call my shooters the little rascals
Got spanky, felt the stormy to clap you
Automatic flaws that spread apart, emerald couches
That get raised where the suede look better dark
Welcome to disco, pinky ring popping like Crisco
Market and cocaine cookies, call it Nabisco
Cigarette lighters and pull halls, a bad bitch
An old jukebox playing that Lou Rawls
Mickey Barnes dope get stretched out
Heroin addicts that OD I'm still putting the rest out
Cotton Club money, gators is gummy, dusting off Donna Summer LPs, LPs
Ali Frazier tickets in gold plaque, Bruce Lee tenth degree
Black belt at the auction cost a hundred and twelve Gs