RAF Original Version Lyrics

RAF Original Version Lyrics by Frank Ocean :
[Chorus: A$AP Rocky & Playboi Carti]
I done came up (yuh, ooh)
Bustin’ down a whole bag (bag)
Broke n*gga, step back (for what?)
Why don’t you peep a n*gga’s swag? (Yuh)
You don’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?)

[Verse 1: A$AP Rocky & (Playboi Carti)]
I’m racked up like rappers (uh)
I’m Raf’d up on camera
Get knocked out on camera
Squeeze pump like asthma (yeah)
It’s rare Raf when I wear Raf (uh)
Bare Raf when I wear Raf
Might invest into some Raf shares
Lil’ n*ggas still share Raf (what?)
Yeah and I’m drippin’ on racks (uh)
Rick Owens be the tag (Rick)
Do the digital dash
Yeah I’m boastin’, never brag (yeah)
Please don’t touch my Raf (what?)
Bought a Kris Van Assche (yeah)
Alessandro Gucci glasses (yeah)
J.W. Anderson collab (uh)
Yeah, she pop it like a MAC (what?)
Yeah, she drop it on the bag (uh)
I’ma buy another bag (back up)
‘Cause she always bring it back (uh)
Yeah, you know how to make it last (yeah)
Plus a n*gga keepin’ tabs (uh)
I’ma fly first class (uh)
Quavo hit ’em with the dab (yeah)
Please don’t touch my Raf

[Verse 2: Quavo]
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’ b*tch 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 b*tch wanna date him (ooh)

[Verse 3: Lil Uzi Vert]
Huh? What?
Don’t want ’em talkin’ ’bout the paper
I swear to God these n*ggas 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 b*tch 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
f*ck your b*tch once, ain’t got patience, yeah (yeah)
f*ck your b*tch once, ’cause I’m famous, yeah
Put my side b*tch in Marc Jacobs, ayy
Makin’ them plays with my label
I get it, I count it, hundred on my table (yeah)

[Verse 4: Frank Ocean]
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 n*gga label, fuego
Down the bottle, still under the limit
I could buy your b*tch just off my debit
I could buy her, not f*ck up my credit
Ain’t no executives flexin’ my blessings
Ain’t no middleman cuttin’ 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 n*gga, 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’?
Wrist like ravioli, stuffed with diamonds, right, right?
We don’t have the same problems
I get Raf Simons, ’cause I’m gifted
That means, sometimes I get it and don’t even want
Give Raf Simons, when I’m giftin’
That means sometimes I give it, you know that you want it

[Verse 5: Frank Ocean]
Sterlin’ silver lasers (laser)
Rubies red, my skin too black to blush
This b*tch too rare to bust
Seen her in the iPhone pages
This ain’t on the Gram, Wizard of O-Z
Parka pockets full of mint leave
Guap is smellin’ like it brush teeth
Say cheese, see the porcelain
Xans and water, see swordfish
Backwoods all forestry
Raf draggin’ on the floor, b*tch!
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