Album: Cozy Tapes Vol. 2 (2017)
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  • I done came up (yuh, ooh)
    Bustin' down a whole bag (bag)
    Broke nigga, step back (for what?)
    Why don't you peep a nigga's swag? (Yuh)
    Ain't even gotta ask (for what?)
    What are those? What is that? (Yuh)
    Please, don't touch my Raf (please don't touch my Raf)
    Please, don't touch my Raf (for what?)

    I'm racked up, like rappers
    I'm Raf'd up on camera
    Get knocked out on camera
    Squeeze pump, like asthma
    It's rare Raf, when I wear Raf
    Bare Raf, when I wear Raf
    Might invest into some Raf shares
    Lil' niggas still share Raf
    Yeah and I'm drippin' on racks
    Rick Owens be the tag
    Do the digital dash
    Yeah, I'm boastin', never brag
    Please, don't touch my Raf
    Bought a Kris Van Assche
    Alessandro Gucci glasses
    J.w. Anderson collab
    Yeah, she pop it like a Mac
    Yeah, she drop it on the bag
    I'ma buy another bag
    'Cause she always bring it back
    Yeah, you know how to make it last
    Plus, a nigga keepin' tabs
    I'ma fly first class
    Quavo hit 'em with the dab
    Please, don't touch my Raf

    Ho, don't step on my Raf Simons (yah, Raf)
    Ho, don't step on my Raf Simons (uh, Raf)
    Ho, don't step on my Raf Simons (ooh)
    Do you know how much I'm spendin'? (Huh, ooh)
    My closet it worth 'bout a milli' (milli', yeah, yeah)
    Took the lil' bitch out the runway (yah, uh)
    Now she naked in the kitchen (uh)
    Raf Simons (ayy)
    All kind of crazy colors (ayy, ayy)
    Livin' color (colors)
    Left wrist, Rollie butters (ice)
    Maison Margiela my sweater (Margiela)
    Mama told me never settle (mama)
    Raf Simons, don't lace 'em (it's Raf)
    Got your bitch wanna date him (ooh)

    Huh? What?
    Don't want 'em talkin' 'bout the paper
    I swear to God these niggas be haters (yah)
    They be hatin', I feel all the vapors
    Live in cul-de-sac, gon' get that lawn
    Ooh, right with my neighbors (yeah)
    Diamonds on my neck and Rollie on
    Now Atlanta got all different flavors
    Hit that bitch right on with my lightsaber
    Ooh, feel like Darth Vader
    I'm a boss, so you know, I might Wraith you
    Ooh, Raf in my basement (yeah)
    Yeah, pass the gas
    Bet you know, that I'm gon' face it
    Wait, that's the reason that they mad
    'Cause Lil Uzi, yeah, he made it, yeah
    I wore that Raf, 'fore I made it, yeah
    I wore that Raf, 'fore I made it, yeah
    Got that Raf all in my basement, yeah
    Fuck your bitch once, ain't got patience, yeah (yeah)
    Fuck your bitch once, 'cause I'm famous, yeah
    Put my side bitch in Marc Jacobs, ayy
    Makin' them plays with my label
    I get it, I count it, hundred on my table (yeah)

    We gon' need a bigger table, though
    Need some cable, tired of watchin' basic
    Wouldn't sign ya, if I had a label
    That designer on a nigga label fuego
    Down the bottle, still under the limit
    I could buy your bitch, just off my debit
    I could buy her, not fuck up my credit
    Ain't no executives, flexin' my blessings
    Ain't no middleman, cut in my blessings
    I got all of this flick for the Lord's worship
    You ain't slammin', got the Asperger's
    I'ma drag that nigga, he deserve it
    I'ma read his ass like a LaBeija
    Anna Wintour cool with my mama
    And it's winter, fool, need a bomber
    Plate of ravioli at Obama's, right, right, right
    (Can't you see I'm eating what's poppin'?)
    Mix the ravioli, stuffed with diamonds, right, right?
    (We don't have the same problems)
    I get Raf Simons, 'cause I'm gifted
    That means, sometimes they give it and don't even want it
    Give Raf Simons, when I'm giftin'
    That means sometimes I give it, you know that you want it
    Sterling silver lasers (yessir)
    Rubies red, my skin too black to blush
    This bitch too rare to bust
    Seen her in the iPhone pages
    This ain't on the Gram, Wizard of OZ
    Parka pockets full of mint leave
    Guap is smelling like it brush teeth
    Say cheese, see the porcelain
    Sand and water, see swordfish
    Backwoods all forestry
    Raf draggin' on the
    Floor, bitch
    Flame thrower in it, in it
    I'm torchin' the road in these Gucci flames
    Stuck to the pavement, they glued
    I'm two-point-five million a venue
    And twenty-five hundred a tooth
    I'm coatin' my lungs in the muddy
    I'm cold like I'm sick with the flu
    I cover my face and I'm bloody
    That Spring/Summer 2002
    Two, two, two, two, yeah
    Please, don't touch my Raf
    Sleep in the grass, Teddy
    Sleep with the Teddy
    Quick with the hands, ready
    Please, don't touch my bag
    Please, don't touch my Raf
    Shirt off, I'm cam ready
    Deadstock in memory
    Please, don't pop my tag Writer/s: Christopher Edwin Breaux, David Maximillian Cunningham, Jordan Carter, Quavious Keyate Marshall, Rakim Mayers, Symere Woods
    Publisher: BMG Rights Management, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind


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