| Yo straight up last minute, you know what time it is
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| Word up, yeah, yeah, yeah
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| Word up, blip blip blap blap blap
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| What up?
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| Who don’t know? |
| They don’t know, betta let 'em know
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| There they go, here we go
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| Aiyo Clientele Kidd
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| Layin in the crib gettin' ill money, those who hate ours get hit
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| Got rugby’s on and 4/5ths
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| Attractin' them niggas I go against, the money was his
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| One nasty unit of murderers, all type of Goons’ll watch
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| Then four minutes later they burglars
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| I heard from the grapevine mine made it
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| Elevate the name up, this gift gotta reign and his game went up
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| And now he’s stronger than ever, Nike jackets and Classics
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| Go against it and it’s instant vendettas
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| He run things, gun down Kings, check the joint the kid flyin' in
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| Crib in Africa with two lions
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| Somethin' like the Prince of a jewel thief, so smack the millions
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| Came back wrapped it up, too sweet
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| The game is missin' somethin' unique
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| I put too much to fall back on, I rather just sleep
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| CHEF! |
| We designin', rhymin' with Diamonds
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| CHEF! |
| Ice Water, it was all in the timin'
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| CHEF! |
| He gave y’all niggas bricks on consignment
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| CHEF! |
| To the death and he Billboard climbin'
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| Yeah uh
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| Yo Don Carta' bomb harder over nearly everybody
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| Very rarely you find me without the mini-shotti
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| Just waitin' for Rae to give me the cue and
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| You see about 100 Puerto Rican niggas shootin'
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| Get down, lay down, we don’t play around
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| I don’t know what you heard but, we don’t play around
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| It’s cooked coke, but look, but what the fuck happened?
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| How you leave the dope game to pursue rappin'?
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| Already knowin' that ya shit was trash
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| Breathin' hard on the mic when yo' click is ass
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| All we tryin' to do is bring dignity to rap
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| And you kiddin' me? |
| I’m literally the epitome of that
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| Uh, we much better than y’all, Terre-error the Squad
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| My niggas set it when we get in the yard
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| Whether Marcy or Comstock, triggers 'pon cock
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| Straight punch in ya lung and you niggas gon' drop
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| What?
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| Yo yo yo shoot him in his mouth. |
| (nah)
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| Fuck him, get the gasoline tell Terry to pull the Ac' up
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| Bring him to Rae warehouse, hang him from hooks then skin his ass
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| As lame as he look he ready to cook (yeah)
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| And he pleadin' for mercy, bleedin' from his dome and he thirsty
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| The first week we made him eat shit!
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| Videotaped his wiz and I fucked his bitch
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| Made him watch me on the couch havin' fun with his kids
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| So what hurts more: is it me showin' love to ya fam?
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| Or you in the box laid under the floor?
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| Or keep you alive blow torchin' ya balls?
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| My murder chainsaw, ya bloods on my Scarface walls
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| Not even Ajax can clean that, Jack
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| We need that maintenance man shit that kill that greasy blood on contact
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| Finish you off cuz I’m pressed for time
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| Your man and 'em will be next to die
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| Mothafucka! |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Clientele Kidd, artist - Raekwon. Album song The Vatican Mixtape, Vol. 3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп