Gotta Have It - Raekwon, Gravy, Brolic

See we gotta have it

Me and my niggas here to lay you down

Ain’t playing, so hit the floor

And don’t make no fucking sound

We gotta have it

We move just like the mob, do

This game is real, caps get peeled

Fuck around, I’ll have to murk you

Yo, from cocktails, 3−80's with the M-1, we bury the jewelry store

Posting, yelling 'get yours', we on Pivot

Coke pilot mink, Kay Gatling Island, Trini and Chi

All day gangsta, murda niggas, sleep

We at the red light, mapped 'em, drove through, as all block

Caught they attention, I leaned

Time Magazine with my face on it, how we position the CREAM

Niggas is large, they all start scheming

Whatever, truck 'em in them leathers, we was stuck together

Fuck around and have to shoot off fingers, yo

You know it, approach the glass with the maskes on

No time for freeze, just pull out and blast on 'em

Sat back, Denzel status, Man on Fire

Had the burner with the flash on it

Skated with six hundred and cash, he did the dummy

We splashed 'em, then boat it in a CLS glass, we vicious

Come one, I see my cash is getting low

And if I can’t shake no dough, what the fuck am I living for

It’s easy for my heater, just to let these niggas know

At the same time, I will take mines to persue to my cash flow

You know you gotta be sick with it

Call up my mans, cuz we about to go get it

A hundred grand is you wit it, a smash for the cause

Looting to the spot, putting everybody on pause

Let me see a broke jaw, nigga, I want it all

I’m talking to all of ya’ll, don’t get it, you gon' fall

Or fuck it, you gon' crawl, my nigga, we laying law

We cock back the strap, attack and shake it off

Glocks’ll get at you, and body your position

In this rap, fire my ratchet, I’m shutting this rap

Caddy steel, face the back, or blown the fuck off from rap

Reach across and blow this shit out your boss in the back

Survived in a porsche, I rap, at a buck 80 verse

Or verse, daddy, let’s do it for change

I’m forty eight hundred grams, one chain, the trend, a new range

Or any project bench, with all my shit on

Flashy don, Gucci on uptowns

Fucking up classics, gay baskets, D.H. niggas

Won’t snitch for shit, criminals that spit

Oh shit, I forgot all about you man, twenty and change

Ferocious tongues, coming at you, redirecting your whole shit

Blunt stole, dealing sick

Glocks’ll blow chunks out your face, looking up in the sky

Seeing Ol' Dirty’s face in the cloud