[Intro: Westside Gunn]
Fuck, yo
I don't even know the why, I don't even know why I'm fuckin' this ill, my nigga
I just am!
S.E. Gang
[Verse: Westside Gunn]
Yo! Every day, I pray to J Dilla
It's a full-time job not to spray a nigga (B'rrrrrt!)
All this dope ain't gon' sell itself
Gut shot made his stomach melt
Pulled off in an Audi wagon
Did a U-ey, came back with fully automatics (B'rrrrrt!)
Mad Max with the black MAC
Left his body parts in a trash bag
Up in Visits talkin' past glass
Now, it's buyin' dinners eatin' crab legs
Everything on me vintage
Pourin' champagnes over scale, Sly, we did it
Aventadors on tour
So many guns on me, you would think it's war
Not at all, I'm just paranoid
Pair of jumpers, Vera Wang, we them Vera boys
Close my eyes, I seen pies
Inhaled, I smelled crime
Kept my ears open, I was focused
Thirty-aught-six shells will flip your Lotus
These niggas bogus
They like three-quarters soda
Lyrically, I'm off the boat with it
Studded Loubi duffle with stupid coke in it
Assholes with gas stoves
Nigga you reap what you sow
Lex LFA, I'm out on Chippawa
I'm the dopest, I don't give a fuck who you are
I don't give a fuck who you are!
[Outro: Keisha Plum]
Like Adolf, I got no remorse
Slice your baby' moms with a dirty boxcutter
The real hood forever
Finesse right in skin tight Moschino and Fendi leathers
Poetic gun flow, I'm Nikki Giovanni with the Hublot
Blood stains on my six inch Stilettos
Steppin' on your throat, worse than Hitler doing lines of coke
Burnin' some purple OG
I'm Illmatic times three
Sick destiny, visualize a hustler's complexity
Murderous tendencies, Balenciaga bag full of blue face Benji's
Keisha Plum, Westside Gunn, 7-1-6 infamy
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