Cartel Gathering lyrics

[Intro: Ghostface Killah]
Yo yo yo!
Word to ride n*gga, yeah

[Verse 1: Ghostface Killah]
Ayo, we four or five n*ggas with furs on
Up top gated up, big tables got the reserves on
Blowin' on saxophones, the band is rough
So much ice on looks like my wrist been cut
And we just made it back from Beijing
Seen my jeweller, told him melt the bird down to eight rings
And the music stopped, Jada stood up (yeah)
Before the speech, he had everybody raise they cups
He said, "I been in spots where I can't even mention it"
"Don't drink the Cris', Ghost mighta p*ssed in it!"
Romanian dude, black down, pourin' the saki
Face slumped to the side like Rocky
Then Strahan came through, with his bullsh*t ring
He said YIKES, when I pulled out my monster bling
Don't be afraid of the New York street talk
I switch gear all day bro, like you do on your peach porch
The chairs is suede, the walls is velvet
Marquise ballroom, so live I felt it
Fat asses in fishnets, shakin' they pelvis
Playin' with they pus*y, middle finger drippin', I smelt it
Poker tables, crap joints just for rap n*ggas
Me and Sheek, walkin' around b*tch-slappin' n*ggas
There go Rae, there go P
Yo Chop whattup! Whattup?
[Verse 2: Raekwon]
Sam Cooke writin' hand, all of my lightnin', damn
Used to rob n*ggas in Sam's, buy shams
For my dude's baby shoe or booster baby, rollin' with steel
Eatin' Jamaican food under the wheel
You know the deal, book somethin' then blow
When from a O to a low, little apartment in Brookdale
Gold was my motto, lotto numbers is what?
Had it in me, rolled down coolin' with coke
That's the 90s, Chef era take over America
Bag Ugly Betty up, make her Ms. Guerrera
Pinky, Winston sweaters, Gortex, burnin' the mic booth
Travel right past my heritage
Them old school n*ggas is me
Taught me how to read, get skee'd, everybody missin' a ki'
Yo, I do this with a natural movement
Catch me by the munition (aha!)​, scope on me, f*ck it I'm losin' it

[Verse 3: Jadakiss]
AH-HAHHHH! Uh, yeah, yo
I did it my way, lights off on the highway
Greek statues on both sides of the driveway
Word to the stamps on the diesel
The way these n*ggas is lookin' either they got cramps or they evil
One go we all go, D-boy fresh but hard dough
Cashmere and suede cargoes
On top of the beige Wallo's
45 government edition clippers, straight hollows
My Clientele is Supreme and it's proven
That I'm Only Built 4 the Link if it's Cuban
I'm a pioneer, I'm not a vet (uh-uh)
"Last Kiss" is a French one, it's not a peck (uh-uh)
Movin' powder, piff and a lot of wet
You're gonna die, that's a promise, not a threat
Yeah, but I ain't with the chatterin'
'Cause I'd just rather splatter them
This is a cartel gatherin', what?