Saturday Nite Lyrics - Supreme Clientele - Ghostface Killah

[Ghostface] 

Yo. 

Saturday night, Uptown 

Ridin past Kansas Fried Chicken 

What's poppin kid? We in the mix 

It's chilly 40 below 

Gate's closed gotta catch Dr. J's 

Blowin my hand, rub on my nose 

Tap the glass, stop frontin Duke, fresh pair of jeans 

Look I got loot, eleven in the Bass boots 

Heard a screech pull up, these Jakes flashed me 5 pictures 

One had my man's mug, Semi stepped brother hugs 

You asked the wrong guy son 

I'm from Melina, yeah we know Mr. Coles 

Flew in two days ago to see his fam' 

But we been watchin you, crazily 

The whole Staten Island shittin on you 

Wisdom Bird's pregnant out in Baisley 

Hold up snow in your ear, fresh baldie tried to change up 

Not trunk today, still lookin fly, still slammed up hung 

Your mom pop in your trunk, slow your pace 

Starks fixed your face, copped out the 6, five years probat' 

You dealin with a lot of science, motherfucker we're watchin you 

Make me wanna lick shots at you 

You disgust me, screwin me down, grab my gun 

Go 'head bust me, heard you hate Jake that's what it must be 

Hands behind your back, spread your legs 

Just found a roach in your tray 

It's not mine fucker, what I said 

You met the 13th nigga 

A multimillion dollar operation is based upon it yo 

Where in the Hell's the RZA? 

He's sellin mics, wildest joints 

Special made to go up in your hand and which went out on point 

Switched to the next scene, I'm at the crib buggin out 

on how po' live, hatin plus harassin the kid 

Park the truck in the double face garage 

Dial 1-900-Raekwon, tell the God shit's mega 

Reel flashin me on BET, Planet Groove, Rap City News 

NAACP committees. {*abruptly ends*} 

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