Luxury Rap Lyrics - Fred The Godson

[Featuring: Fred the Godson] 

[Verse 1: Raekwon] 

This the Terrordome, where niggas get tied up, Berretta blown 

Or whip the vanilla 200X lebanon 

Doofie gauge, 38s, 300 rebels strong 

Out in Grenada, chilling snow pebbles on prosperous 

Hugh Heffs fucking? 

Favorite color purple, we would circle the jets 

He talk base, in a I-8 racing clear doors we face 

In life, in trying to get away from these whores 

Or rolling uptown in gambling stores 

Stealing clothes in Macys, running out with like five, six Valores 

Thug couple Rugby boys who get fly and break jaws 

And take papes the stakes is yours 

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[Verse 2: Fred Da Godson] 

Rae told me victorys unexpected 

They hating on my chain, misery from a necklace 

See my YouTube and hear me spitting, know Im reckless 

First nigga ever selling metaphors on Craig's List 

Fresh shit, we on it, no matter what the joint 

You the Hornets, you lost Chris Paul, whats your point? 

I could spit a freestyle and be on 

This beat feel like I should rhyme with some Wallabees on 

I would wrong if I told everybody get your weight up 

But back to the real shit, that wave up, phase up 

If he owe me dough, I hope that he pay up 

Hand on that trigger when that finger roll hell lay up 

Wait up, its just homicide humor 

I couldve bodied you sooner 

I just provided the rumor 

Whatever he rhyming on, Ill bring it to you 

Im a phenomenon, Travolta with the tumor 

Photos 

[Verse 3] 

Blowing exotic kush, watermelon flavor, no seeds 

Burn it by the O-Z, imported from O-T 

Export it from T-O, salute to the OG 

Flips is high risk, but the moves is low key 

Young hustlers, dreaming about awards and tours 

The world is ours, and any store accepting the credit card 

Bought her: fly boosters, designer shades, and all that 

Hit it in the back, then fell back in the callback 

Im busy chasing paper on the cash rule major 

All we do is see numbers like an old school pager 

Double your wager, we busy clocking like Flavor 

Time waits for no man, man dont be a hater 

Land of opportunity, keep your mule and forty acres 

Id rather forty mill and own a piece of the Lakers 

Dancing with devils, and two stepping with saints 

We young, black, and getting it, everything that you aint ever