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