Raf – Song and Lyrics by A$AP Mob


Discover the poetic beauty in ‘Raf’ by A$AP Mob. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of A$AP Mob or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.

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
F*ck your bitch once, ain’t got patience, yeah (yeah)
F*ck 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 f*ck 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