Flyy

[Intro: Westside Gunn] (Fly) Ayo Yo, where the fuck the clock at, yo? [Verse 1: Westside Gunn] Ayo, they asked if the work swimmin', Lord, forgive 'em Michael Phelps in the pot, it's reeking up in Connie's kitchen Nigga put a pinky in the raw brick, 20 for a half, no shake He looked at me and said "delicious" Nigga had to learn a little Spanish, you dropped your work and then it vanished Put my models on a plate, not time for table manners Revolving doors at the penitentiary, dispensaries calling my name Raw paper stuffed with headband I'm the flyest nigga ever on the mic, you disagree and you're a dead man Christian Dior is in the morgue, had 2 fingers up in Coco Chanel New York strip medium well, I left his brains on a Gigi Plate You fucking with me, no way, I'm fucking genuine like Solé Ferragamo flight jacket, I'm 'bout to take flight Niggas'll tell on their moms they give that bitch life Niggas'll tell on their moms they give that bitch life [Verse 2: Keisha Plum] Frank White, King of New York shit Deep like Queen Afua Or E Badu-a Mixed with Big in 96 on some real fuck a bitch shit In Plum poetry I trust, sipping Moët sprinkled with rose petal dust My life is a blatant contradiction, pray you and mistreat you with holistic intentions Catch that midnight train to Georgia Call mom dukes tell her you love her Fly to the Heavens in something filthy Jet black leather, Maison Margiela Blow a slow, kiss to Griselda It's like you walked it before I lived it I'm on my second lifetime I'm a young Jesús in his prime, out here turning water to wine [Outro: Keisha Plum] Keisha Plum, Westside Gunn Yeah