Pissy Work

[Intro: Westside Pootie] FLYGOD [Verse 1: Westside Gunn] Ayo, peace, Lord, I heard you back on the block The lil man had the hammer, he was up in the spot I had your red bottoms walking on eggshells, you got it Six car garage, all exotic Four bad hoes, all exotic White stripes on the Off-White galoshes Just Don shorts Supersonics Get the one fives and tens, let's go shopping Vera Wang famous On a yacht speed racing Chasing Nino's lifestyle, bitches and guns I'm a get rich and give it all to my son Each one, teach one Stay away from fuck niggas And take care of your moms [Chorus: Sample] "Time—" "Time—" "Time—", "Time—" "T—" "Time for a change of the guard" "Time—" "Time—" "T—" "Time—" "Time—" "Time—" "T—" "Time for a change of the guard" "Time—" "T—" "Time for a change of the guard" [Verse 2: Benny the Butcher] Brothers off to jail, buses chartered off to hell That's why daughters often tell, stories how their fathers fail They pulled me over, riding dirty, boof the work, toss the L Twelve called for backup and the dogs, when he caught the smell I'm cut from a different cloth, it ain't hard to tell And real niggas feel it like I wrote in all in Braille Big Glock, when that shit pop, it can park a whale When my shit drop, its gon' be soundin' like Tha Carter XII Plan is to stuff the safe and then fade out quick And get rich with the same ones, you stayed down with Loyalty and trust is words we don't play 'round with If you swing, then we gon' slide on some playground shit And niggas be dead broke, tryna act like they up How they just got in the game, tryna act like they us When my whole team was up, tryna act like you broke And want attention from those bitches or heat from them folks, nah It was never handed to me, grinding was mandatory I don't got no game, it's just these bitches understand my story Speaking for my people every time they put those cameras on me Learned it from the game, nah, my momma never planned this for me Pretty soon you gotta pick a side Commit a crime or get confined Kill one of us and only get a fine You hear this and probably get the vibe of nine-eight Kiss and Styles Reasonable Doubt Hov, It Was Written Nas These new niggas got too much fabrication Not enough truth and too much imagination I guess that's where the game at now, I had to face it But I changed for the better, my nigga, old habits breaking You will never eat with a team full of dead weight We don't trust bitches or believe nigga's handshakes Fiends in the staircase, bricks wrapped in red tape Don't know what's coming first, Jack boys or a Fed case I stayed focused, chain smoking kept my head straight Whippin' deuces for the Frank Muller with the fair ca—ah!