Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song RAF , by - A$AP Mob. Release date: 24.08.2017
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
RAF |
| I done came up (yuh, ooh) |
| Bustin' down a whole bag (bag) |
| Broke nigga, step back (for what?) |
| Why don't you peep a nigga's swag? |
| (Yuh) |
| Ain't even gotta ask (for what?) |
| What are those? |
| What is that? |
| (Yuh) |
| Please, don't touch my Raf (please don't touch my Raf) |
| Please, don't touch my Raf (for what?) |
| I'm racked up, like rappers |
| I'm Raf'd up on camera |
| Get knocked out on camera |
| Squeeze pump, like asthma |
| It's rare Raf, when I wear Raf |
| Bare Raf, when I wear Raf |
| Might invest into some Raf shares |
| Lil' niggas still share Raf |
| Yeah and I'm drippin' on racks |
| Rick Owens be the tag |
| Do the digital dash |
| Yeah, I'm boastin', never brag |
| Please, don't touch my Raf |
| Bought a Kris Van Assche |
| Alessandro Gucci glasses |
| J.w. |
| Anderson collab |
| Yeah, she pop it like a Mac |
| Yeah, she drop it on the bag |
| I'ma buy another bag |
| 'Cause she always bring it back |
| Yeah, you know how to make it last |
| Plus, a nigga keepin' tabs |
| I'ma fly first class |
| Quavo hit 'em with the dab |
| Please, don't touch my Raf |
| Ho, don't step on my Raf Simons (yah, Raf) |
| Ho, don't step on my Raf Simons (uh, Raf) |
| Ho, don't step on my Raf Simons (ooh) |
| Do you know how much I'm spendin'? |
| (Huh, ooh) |
| My closet it worth 'bout a milli' (milli', yeah, yeah) |
| Took the lil' bitch out the runway (yah, uh) |
| Now she naked in the kitchen (uh) |
| Raf Simons (ayy) |
| All kind of crazy colors (ayy, ayy) |
| Livin' color (colors) |
| Left wrist, Rollie butters (ice) |
| Maison Margiela my sweater (Margiela) |
| Mama told me never settle (mama) |
| Raf Simons, don't lace 'em (it's Raf) |
| Got your bitch wanna date him (ooh) |
| Huh? |
| What? |
| Don't want 'em talkin' 'bout the paper |
| I swear to God these niggas be haters (yah) |
| They be hatin', I feel all the vapors |
| Live in cul-de-sac, gon' get that lawn |
| Ooh, right with my neighbors (yeah) |
| Diamonds on my neck and Rollie on |
| Now Atlanta got all different flavors |
| Hit that bitch right on with my lightsaber |
| Ooh, feel like Darth Vader |
| I'm a boss, so you know, I might Wraith you |
| Ooh, Raf in my basement (yeah) |
| Yeah, pass the gas |
| Bet you know, that I'm gon' face it |
| Wait, that's the reason that they mad |
| 'Cause Lil Uzi, yeah, he made it, yeah |
| I wore that Raf, 'fore I made it, yeah |
| I wore that Raf, 'fore I made it, yeah |
| Got that Raf all in my basement, yeah |
| Fuck your bitch once, ain't got patience, yeah (yeah) |
| Fuck your bitch once, 'cause I'm famous, yeah |
| Put my side bitch in Marc Jacobs, ayy |
| Makin' them plays with my label |
| I get it, I count it, hundred on my table (yeah) |
| We gon' need a bigger table, though |
| Need some cable, tired of watchin' basic |
| Wouldn't sign ya, if I had a label |
| That designer on a nigga label fuego |
| Down the bottle, still under the limit |
| I could buy your bitch, just off my debit |
| I could buy her, not fuck up my credit |
| Ain't no executives, flexin' my blessings |
| Ain't no middleman, cut in my blessings |
| I got all of this flick for the Lord's worship |
| You ain't slammin', got the Asperger's |
| I'ma drag that nigga, he deserve it |
| I'ma read his ass like a LaBeija |
| Anna Wintour cool with my mama |
| And it's winter, fool, need a bomber |
| Plate of ravioli at Obama's, right, right, right |
| (Can't you see I'm eating what's poppin'?) |
| Mix the ravioli, stuffed with diamonds, right, right? |
| (We don't have the same problems) |
| I get Raf Simons, 'cause I'm gifted |
| That means, sometimes they give it and don't even want it |
| Give Raf Simons, when I'm giftin' |
| That means sometimes I give it, you know that you want it |
| Sterling silver lasers (yessir) |
| Rubies red, my skin too black to blush |
| This bitch too rare to bust |
| Seen her in the iPhone pages |
| This ain't on the Gram, Wizard of OZ |
| Parka pockets full of mint leave |
| Guap is smelling like it brush teeth |
| Say cheese, see the porcelain |
| Sand and water, see swordfish |
| Backwoods all forestry |
| Raf draggin' on the |
| Floor, bitch |
| Flame thrower in it, in it |
| I'm torchin' the road in these Gucci flames |
| Stuck to the pavement, they glued |
| I'm two-point-five million a venue |
| And twenty-five hundred a tooth |
| I'm coatin' my lungs in the muddy |
| I'm cold like I'm sick with the flu |
| I cover my face and I'm bloody |
| That Spring/Summer 2002 |
| Two, two, two, two, yeah |
| Please, don't touch my Raf |
| Sleep in the grass, Teddy |
| Sleep with the Teddy |
| Quick with the hands, ready |
| Please, don't touch my bag |
| Please, don't touch my Raf |
| Shirt off, I'm cam ready |
| Deadstock in memory |
| Please, don't pop my tag |