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Artist: Raekwon f/ The Game
Album:  Only Built 4 Cuban Linx... Pt. II (Gold Edition)
Song:   About Me (Remix)
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Intro: Raekwon]
Yeah, ah-yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, ah-yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, ah-yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, ah-yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, you know how we do it
Turn me up, kid, let's get it popping
Yo Dre, good looking on this coke, man
This shit is official

Aiyo, it's back to business, making them diskettes, pushing sixes
Rocking wild animals on jackets are sickening
Hear me? From here to Rockaway to Cali, we flipped this
Broad day, Chef'll saute, his lyrics is crispy
Now I got Dre up in the kitchen, Rae stuck in position
Bout to flame broil his coke and get busy
What? Politics, pop collars and drive violent whips
Stay fly, hungry and wise, you know the code, honor it
Sit back, yelling it's nothing, unless his buttons get pressed
We don't stress nothing, we only get dressed
Stretched out, moving professional, frying more fish
I heard it in slurs, them niggas is blessed
While we ball to the maximum, give me the floor, for real
I show off and let my money get stretched
Take it to a new level, new bezzle, few rebels
Few wolves with medals on, you know we get test

[Chorus: Raekwon]
Me, nigga, me, that's who, Cash Rule
You better slow it down, niggas'll smash you, cousin
Me, nigga, me, pass through, rascals
Half gorilla, half ape in them track suits, black
Me, nigga, me, capsules, birds, whips
Ounces and fifths no licking the glass, duke
Yeah, yea-yea-yeah, yea-yea-yeah, yeah (yeah)
I'm here, so it's there, yea-yea-yea-yeah, yeah

[The Game]
Yo, I be on the Island, wilding, stallions under the Phantom hood
With the V12 growling like, Mike Vick's pit bulls, the last one to die
Probably cried, chinky eyes, heading straight for the dirt
That's how it is in my hood, Compton, niggas put you under the Earth
Four-five bulging out that white T-shirt like a hard on
This block shit is ill, like the nigga that put Raekwon the God, on
I can drink to that, but all the Patron probably gone
Chef brought the Hennessey, we start to get our polly on
Ashy knuckles, taped up veggies in a duffle
Back to back Beemers, Moss'll play me in a huddle, yeah
I pop big shit, New York Knick shit
L.A. Laker paper, Kobe coming off a pick, shit
I'm the shooter, the marble rip ruger
Hard tops, we tell stories like Slick Rick the Ruler


I'm that live little live nigga up in the Lex
Swinging through hoods, ratchets and a couple Gillette's
Peoples is straight, can't tell me nothing, we cake
Rolling lovely, bricks and white shit up in Mercedes
I live by the code, I was never a fake
When it's time to ride, I be in the front with the ace
Lighting blunts, Marvin Gaye shit, bumping them great
Glass of Cru', get a writing hand, wiping the paint
Candy apple shine, all my niggas in the line, pollying
Everybody jollying, and we straight
What it do, baby, Wu coming through in that new Mercedes
Everybody looking like it's Houston, but it ain't
Staten Island hot boys, pushing them hot toys
You gon' fuck around and let your woman get you got boy
Who ripped the fever back in '97, rip the year?
Who came in Cali after west coast gangstas there?