Rec-Room Therapy (feat. Raekwon & U-God)

Alright, now, this is how we gon' do this shit

You know what I'm sayin'? **** wasn't out in the streets back then when was doing this shit, son

You know what I mean?

Yeah, check the story

I done flushed bags of powder down project toilets

You could've found of me on the steps dusted, unable to call it

Jums in my pocket, the rental was stolen

Tappin' pockets on the local drug dealers just to see what they holdin'

I know **** with crack vials stuck to they colon

The acid done bubbled up, now they stomachs is swollen

That's just life in the hood, ceramic glass when we baggin' our stash

The ultraviolet haze, we hit it and pass

We toast to the ghosts of old days (Yeah)

Old age, uh-huh

We rap renegades, must stay paid

Get money (Get money)

Get money, Ghost (Get money)

Get money (Get money)

Get money, Ghost (Get money)

Yeah, big fluffed-out Gooses on, Stan Smiths

The housing cops can suck our dicks

We jumping out of convertible matchbox shit

Next drip inhaling, chillin', my throat frozen, my orange brick

Bottles of Cru', bitches with Baby Phats, they swinging axe

They singing, "You still blinging, daddy, now bring it back"

To smoke these rap ****, honey, I'ma need a match

To bust the game wide open, I'ma need an axe

I juggle this, practice, smuggle heroin in the cactus

Keep it hood, I still go and fuck a fat bitch

Actress, slinging the backs of five Cleopatras

A cocaine chef, I stretch money like elastic

****, my raps is bigger, dynamics with the muscle advantage

Jay Cutler on dust when I blam shit

Get money (Get money)

Get money, Ghost (Get money)

Get money (Get money)

Get money, Ghost (Get money)

Yo, we been bagging since eighteen, kid, Polo rugs on with gloves on

Rented cars, frontin' on winning broads

Gum slow, half moon, leather pants, Avia' days

Keep your hands off my blunt and my waves

Benetton, Superman bomb, everybody in the lobby, we clapping

Hats on, protectin' your moms, you know how we play

Spray somethin' down if the team say

It's on, I dedicate my lines to the PJs

Triple beams, Pyrex jars, smokin' nickel beans

All we did is look mad fly, icicle rings

Whatever, homeboy, you want it? You could get your receipt

A lil' closer, you can sense we got heat

It's only me plus four other ill gangsters

We all anxious

To blow up your block and spank shit

Get money (Get money)

Get money, Ghost (Get money)

Get money (Get money)

Get money, Ghost (Get money)

Yo, I'm down for the get down, hit the town, sic the bloodhounds on 'em

I rip clowns, I flip pounds, I spit rounds

I'm on the prowl, my stomach growl, crushed by the crowd

Rush through Loud Records, drop mushroom clouds

I'm not around, I'm spellbound, I melt down your G-Force with heat walks

Free falling to a bed of money, bet he's hungry

Spread the honey, big head inside the Humvee

Mix lead inside my lungies, spend bread on my dungarees

And such and such, Ghost plugged me with this slut

Bitch, don't hug me, bug me, I'm ugly when I fuck

I'm hard like a jungle hunter, bust off in Heather

Double cross me, lift your boss off your feet, course he's feather

Whatever, whatever, he cried in the Benz

Tennis players get fried, playin' both sides of the ends

Keep your eyes on your friends 'cause they spy for the feds

Watch me rise from the dead, I got ties with the dreads

Get money (Get money)

Get money, Ghost (Get money)

Get money (Get money)

Get money, Ghost (Get money)