| Yeah… R.A.Z.A.H.*
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| Do the Grey Goose dance, baby
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| Yo, run to the bar real quick
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| Everybody put they glass in the air…
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| Drink with me, uh-huh, we gon' smoke tonight
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| And probably fuck up ya hair, baby
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| I want two ladies to one nigga, right now
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| What it take you a week, I do in one take, let’s go
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| This for the mami’s with the gorgeous bodies, who barely go to parties
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| My sweet lion is love, from out the wild safari
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| And we can never copy, Whitney or being Bobby
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| Parking lot pimping, here’s a hard Ferrari
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| She like Jamaican sands, tanning to Bob Marley
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| I’m into old jams, but I ain’t Steve Harvey
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| I’m more like, probably, a young Marcus Garvey
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| I respect queens, don’t disrespect the hotties
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| My independent ladies, single and got babies
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| Keeping they legs closed, while brothers in the Navy
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| And brothers locked up, around the late eighties
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| Ain’t coming home soon, could make a switch move
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| Catch a full moon, bitchy attitude
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| The way the booty move, could make the wise fooled
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| She got a mind brighter, than any prized jewel
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| She got a mind brighter, than any prized jewel
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| She be my sleeping beauty, mami, I’m yours truly
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| Gucci bandana, you know it’s Razah Rubies
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| You know how it goes, raise up, man handle hoes
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| Who pose up in the club, with they camel toe
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| I’m on the dance floor, puffin' to Biggie, with two wizzes with me
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| Who love to kiss, like Madonna and Britney
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| I’m bugging, it’s like the whole game thinking they 50
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| You plotting to come and get me, son, I’m taking you with me
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| Everybody on these mixtapes thinking they straight
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| My piranha’s don’t go for the bait, they go for ya face
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| Ductape rappers, make 'em open the safe
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| Homicide any bitches who testify
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| Royal got the keys, so nobody can’t open the safe
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| Your beats is lame, your rhymes is trash, I just laugh
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| Niggas lucky that a record label found your ass
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| Do the math on my first week sales, I ring bells
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| Got fans in Japan, to France, to Israel
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| Even ATL, L.A., back to BK, yea
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| I run through players like Ray Lewis, vestes, I spray through it
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| Get mad cash like I’m half Jewish
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| I only spit that embambing fluid, be on the con, do it
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| Getting sucked off to calm music
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| Move units like Rod Stewart, and you get robbed to it
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| The undisputed rap Joe Lewis
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| My heart cold like eskimos, I give ya chest some holes
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| Unless you air out some extra flows
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| Bank account need extra O’s, no extra hoes
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| It’s more stress that’ll test my soul
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| Even older niggas know me, go and give me my props
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| Cause my game pull divas like Vivica Fox
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| Backwoods, by the boxes, man, I got lots of fans
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| It’s God’s will when ya glock get jammed
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| I’m not the Clan, but I rhyme, like you signed 9 members
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| Raz' a Maccabee, G.G., do remember
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| Pull ya coats down…
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| Don’t hate… haha… yeah…
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| What it take you a week, I do in one take
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| R.A.Z.A.H., don’t hate |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Yours Truly , by - Hell Razah. Song from the album Renaissance Child, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп