Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Raw, artist - M-Phazes.
Date of issue: 21.02.2012
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
The Raw |
On the average night, I’m likely to stab a fag with a knife |
That’s when I’m chilling, imagine when I’m mad what it’s like |
Damn right it’s a disasterous sight |
Why you think I’ve been in prison more than half of my life |
My life, wolves, bloods and crips, duckin' the digs |
We don’t like basketball, but still fuck with the knicks |
Dimes, twenties, fifties and bricks |
Summer art though, if the bitch need a fix, it’s triple the tips |
Do whatever it takes, the fakes, I can never relate |
Ya’ll can chill as long as my cheddar is straight |
But if I’m broke, shit, I’ma load the beretta with eight |
Show y’all niggas my gun game is better than great |
Little crack baby, ignorant son of a black lady |
Who never bothered to teach you cause the bitch was that shady |
Recognize nigga, we can settle the score |
Big Sai', Dutchmaster, we reppin' the raw |
(Chorus: DJ Dutchmaster scratches up samples) |
«Raw I’ma give it to ya» — U-God |
«Down and so raw, a thousand grams of uncut cook it up — Biggie |
«Raw I’ma give it to ya» — U-God |
«R.A.W., watch us cook this hood shit» |
(Inspectah Deck) |
It’s war, I want it all, man, nothing’s enough |
I’m on the chatline doubling up, cousin it’s us |
Pimpin' out the toy trucks, pumpin' the clutch |
Smooth through on the graveshift, dump on you ducks |
Above the law, still duckin' the cuffs, still fuck in the truck |
I hold you hostage, corrupt with the bust |
In the mean streets, stuck in the lust, never trusted in trust |
When the pressure’s on, perform in the clutch |
When my hand deal, call it a flush, think I’m fallin', you nuts |
Northern Lights rap, caught with the rush |
Burn a big bud, tossing it up, flossin' is up |
The raw with the big paw, ballin' with us |
See my warface, the project halls is rough |
With a satellite phone you couldn’t call my bluff |
Many runnings with jake, left my jaw to scuff |
On some what, paper chasing, from dawn to dusk |
(Chorus w/ «Raw without a doubt» as last line) |
(Bekay) |
Bekay’s the reason that your label got a street team |
The definition of a street dream, listen to the streets scream |
The game made the pain, I’ma bring longer |
But I’m like Magic with AIDS, what don’t kill you make you stronger |
Corny chickens, my dick, whores be licking |
Fifty pound loads, to they jaw, they sipping |
And anything I’m rhyming on, will spit flames to the roof |
Like gonorrhea dick, pissing with a condom on |
Had to do these slugs, locked in cutie’s butts |
Dip my balls in vodka, I’m absolutely nuts |
Whose gonna spit, bruise in your clit |
If you nice on the mic, I’ma put screws in this bitch |
Your big fucking mouth just had a violent start |
More kids know my name than Mike Jackson’s private parts |
Fuck your roster, my click burn labels |
Dutchmaster scratch your fuckin' face off with a turntable |