Pull Tha Cars Out - Wu-Block, Ghostface Killah, Sheek Louch

We make the club jump every time we walk in this bitch

Yea, we shining.

You can tell my niggas is rich

Rozay and Patron at my throne, women at my feet

Staring like they want me to beat

This New York rap, I’m on the other side of the map

Nine nickel plate strap with a bitch on my lap

Back to back on the FDR, big cigar

You can tell there’s a star in one of these cars

She’s with Ghostface, yeah a bird on her wrist

Mask on face, gorillas in mist

Everybody try but they can’t do it like this

This Don Donna it starts I bet I won’t miss

Hey yo

Pull them cars out

We gettin money over here

Them bottles on the table

The weed in the air

Your woman starin at us

Them haters ice grillin

Wu-Block, you know we in the buildin

Verse 2:

Every little spot they know me

Loyal females who can’t just give me the twat

They show me like I’m a big stock broker on Wall Street

I said, «Nahh, I’m that big drug dealer from 4E!»

A lot of guacamole, know a lot of parolees

Slung in front of a lot of these delis eatin cannolis

I stayed on the front line like private events in airports

And live by the code I’mma bust mine

Word, tunes, start shorty while I got a tongue in my ear

Don’t get a stain on my Porsche

Light-skined said she a virgo

Said she love my roll game and my bird yo

A baby ghost appeared from the blunt smoke

It lingered through her hair and set into her clothes

Her bag fell, I saw a 38 snub nose

I stole that and still fucked her when the club closed

Buck fifty on your face, hundred stacks on the car

If I spend a rack today, get that rack back tomorr

I’m a cash ruler, rulers zig-zag allah

Get my money off the hook like I’m Abdul-Jabar

Get my money off the book like Steve Paul

Then fall, act hard, but they livin

They think like a man, but act like they women

I never trust a broad with that in God trust only trust in God

Look at me, I’m what these little haters wanna be

I’m your man, 50 grand and I keep it a hundred G

I’m that block on fire, it’s like a hundred and three

Rappers come a dime a dozen but they don’t come in tha peace

I only need a few raps when you comin with cheese

And the people you come up with, they be comin to me

We got the city under siege

Where the tightest ladies

Wear the tightest dungarees