Re-Up Gang - Zen Lyrics

Is it them blings that make them watch us?
The awkward lean and 'em cars that’s topless
I got them things, I cut and chop it
I sell that ostrich, I’m
So obnoxious, getting money, say

Hands got the bubble touch
Bike with the double-clutch
Two diamond jump ropes: My
Neck do the double-dutch
Give a fuck about such-and-such
On behalf of the Re-Up Gang, I’m saying
"'Nough’s enough"
Turn it, turn it fire, burn it
Gram weight straight like a
Nigga just permed it
Pyrex and water, player how I earns it
Lame rap niggas, I’m so not concerned with
On another level, my third bezel
My fourth gas pedal
Fifty-five on the back, I’m a daredevil
The course is paved, the watch is pavé
You niggas gotta love me
I'm something the Lord made
(yeah ah, can non)

I got-gots to do it, do it vVS, my jewelry
Don’t need no jury to find me guilty
I stay gaudy
Pockets bulky how can y'all fault me?
Ghost-ride it driver, what that mean?
You're small, welly, nigga fuck that beam
Us that team touch that cream
Digital scale what’s that scheme?
(It’s all real) Don't touch that thing (Fake)
Niggas faces get flattened and clapped-in
Squad want action Re-Run, What’s Happening?
Every episode, the Tec exposed, Gotti body
Tsunami mamis
That gotta be why they watching

Is it them blings that make them watch us?
The awkward lean and 'em cars that’s topless
I got them things, I cut and chop it
I sell that ostrich, I’m
So obnoxious, getting money, say
Zen zen zen zen zen zen (Zen) zen zen zen
(Zen) , zen zen zen zen
Zen zen (You're getting money, say)
Zen z-zen, zen zen, zen zen
Zen zen, zen zen zen zen-zen-zen-zen

Now, how that forearm glow on 'em
Feeling so grown on 'em
I pitch work, sort of like Nomo on 'em
Snow on 'em, cover my tracks, low on 'em
So on 'em streets, I push blow on 'em
The car drop with the soft
Top like Bose on 'em
Rolls on 'em, go on 'em
I’m striking a pose on 'em
No opponent can come close, match tone on it
Flow on it, honed on it
I’m feeling at home on it
It’s Liva, the rider
The man they hang clothes on 'em
With the belt, the matching shoes
The G-soles on 'em
I’m classic, the plastic got O's on 'em
I rolls on 'em
The self-murder doors close on 'em

Yeah, good gosh, a'mighty
All we do is cook raw, push cars like Whitey
Like a moth to a flame, it’s so inviting
To opposite sexes, the stones so precious
Still in the Rezzy, G4, or Lear
No diamond in that bezzy
I get grown-er every year
Pay me for that feature that
Don't make it family all is see is blackface
And you singing "Mammy"
I’m from the old school
When the Gat was a jammy
Twin four-fifs: The resemblance is uncanny
I bust both in sync y’all niggas hear me
Now that’s what I call "the big bang theory"

Is it them blings that make them watch us?
The awkward lean and 'em cars that’s topless
I got them things, I cut and chop it
I sell that ostrich, I’m
So obnoxious, getting money, say
Zen zen zen zen zen zen
Zen zen zen, zen zen zen zen zen zen
(Getting money, say)
Zen z-zen, zen zen, zen zen
Zen zen, zen zen zen z-z-zen