Lyrics What's Up? - Clipse

What's Up?

For my hustlas, play the part, I’m a smuggler;
This is to my jugglers, get it out to the customers
645 Ci them hoes loving us…
For my hustlas, play the part, I’m a smuggler
This is to my jugglers, get it out to the customers
645 Ci them hoes loving us
But I felt the top would smother us-
So I got the roof transplanted, so now that the sun’s touchin' us
Plus the inside was a coach, love it or comfort us
Sitting on blades, like Shaq’s shoes is up under us
Came a long way from that thing — for $ 25, 5
Taped up under the muffler I move it with my Southerner niggas
That rep they hood, puttin on they struggl-les
I, get it-I grab it-I cook it-I move it-I sell it;
See it-I cop it-I drop it-I chrome it-I shell it
I unveil it;
I switch lanes, left hand, turn, «burn, baby, burn!»
Nights watch the arms hail it
Complimented the drama-sale is augmented
Still says «classy» no matter what the frost think
S-L be the coupe;
roof off the drop
Neck out the top, look at me—Jack-In-The-Box!
You actin' a lot;
you ain’t Big, you ain’t Pac
And we only respect J. Prince for rapping alot
Your reign on the top, never quote him, I ain’t owe him
If you ain’t kissed his mama how the fuck you ride fo' him?
You dick-eating niggas probably wish to die fo' him
And I admired his work, but I ain’t never cried fo' him!
Hoping the dead blow 'em up, maybe this will grow 'em up
150K every time Pusha showin' up!
Shimmerin' hand, shimmerin' band, I’m Glimmer Man;
Chain star-studded like it’s Viva-La-Glam!
You niggas «Jackass» like Viva-La-Bam
Looked down upon like KRS did to Shan
I’m one thousand grams wrapped neat in Saran
Label me landlord, I keep Kis in my hand
This ain’t shit but vicious, physics
Just nod to how we livin', listen
Black Cards is in position, shiftin'
Give it to 'em, this money mission, idiot
WASSUP, WASSUP, WASSUP?
REEE-UP!
WASSUP, WASSUP, WASSUP?
Re-Up, Re-Up!
Wha-wha-wha, wha-wha, wassup?
REEE-UP!
R-E-U-P, Re-Up, Re-Up!
Picture me rollin', Glock that I’m holdin'
Poppin' you open, stoppin' the jokin'
Shit, drop in your colon, pissin' your denim
This is ya endin', couldn’t prevent it
Bitches from «Waa!"ming — fuck boiii!
You know wassup wit MCs galore
Cold-hearted, I could freeze velour
Make you breathe no more
I take heart like the Reaper’s Kiss
But it’s this heat, I’mma greet ya wit: «How ya doing?»
Stop the movement, I’m a mood swing, wrapped up
If you blink wrong, I’mma clap ya
I pause ya squad;
standin' ovation
I broaden the score, no hesitation;
Show me an idiot, I show you demonstration
Easy evaporation, MC annihilation
I’m toleratin', all the fakin' so I’m takin'
Needed, you see it’s blatant
Intro-du-cing the Re-Up Gang
The montage, the renaissance, the re-birth, the avant-garde
Chopard the arm, the car’s the Arnage
Deal with the whip, follow the brick, I am Oz;
Oh yes, the wizadry, fire-to-pot chemistry
The coke call straight to they soul like a ministry;
Like it it or not — we kick in the door, we dig in the lock
And still toss a Big in the pot
Cop the sorbet, straight from Jorge
Jack-of-all-trades, even mastered the gourmet, unh!
Plus the price got the street tongue-in-cheek
Cook it till it’s aldente;
muah, magnifique!
Black Card the Era, we got in the bag
Y’all niggas ain’t a factor, like Trinidad’s jab
I’m back like Zab;
Re-Up, the avenger and
Recite these Ghetto Hymns and regard:
I’m the Scripture, nigga
This ain’t shit but vicious, physics
Just nod to how we livin', listen
Black Cards is in position, shiftin'
Give it to 'em, this money mission, idiot
WASSUP, WASSUP, WASSUP?
REEE-UP!
WASSUP, WASSUP, WASSUP?
Re-Up, Re-Up!
Wha-wha-wha, wha-wha, wassup?
REEE-UP!
R-E-U-P, Re-Up, Re-Up!
Niggas know, the lyrical molesting is takin' place
Fuckin with Sincere P, it ain’t safe;
Drop head: coupe, with the new, paper plates
Ostrich creams, or the new, gator bait
Niggas be actin' brand new, like an openin'
Fuckin' headache;
don’t let them get the still mocherin'
The heart of a marksman is cold like Minnesotta when it is broke
So therefore he wants to spend, like Oprah spent
So you gon' be hard, or you gon' play cho-cha then?
Maybe you should just re-focus and not approach us then;
Cuz it’s gon' be mo' than just a blow across the chin
Separate your suit from ya soul like a moccasin
You’re so flowed up, looked down like «really?»
Cuz I’m so short, so icy, lIke the penguin Chilly Willy
So glittery, but he ain’t know my position, see
Hit him the clip, it went «brrrip!», with a .50 piece
See, I’m a nice guy — I woulda rewrote history
Boy car flippin' like chicken, just like rotisserie
«That's fucked up!»
— that’s ya gift to me…"Huh?"
Look familiar, niggas, all the label drama coming to an end:
Clipse coming soon, tell a friend