Lord (FNIC)

Westside Gunn

Compositor: Não Disponível

Ayo
A Rolls-Royce made a nigga look
Much bigger than life, big tuppence on, Jesus flooded with ice
Pachino blow, gettin' niggas stuck
I knowin' niggas doin' life in a box
And not giving a fuck, word up
Drug connected, invested, crazy math
Movin' like Escobar, coke Pacho
It's this nigga they call Gunn
Flyest nigga in charge, yo, cash rules
Hamdullah
Baggin' addy, shootin' niggas outta big navi's
Fuck it, run up on 'em, quick stab 'em
We gotta handle the score
Duffle bags with Gucci emblems
For imputin' pure, yo son, we killin' niggas
Carry unloaded handguns, 'cause I don't trust shit
Flyer than bitches on Saks 5th, duh
Dolce wardrobe, we pose with a 50 Cal' on me
It's the nigga, jugged drug dealer that'll kill ya
Fly nigga rockin' fatigue, money machines, and triple beams
At 16, I'm on the run for more robbery
The state lovin' niggas like me
Gettin' cream up in Junior High
Changed my lives up, Gunn was the flyest nigga in class
Math wasn't shit, learned that from older niggas on the ave
Word on my life, Uncle Baker was the shit when he was alive
Walkin' the strip with the 9
Choppin' eights up at Domes
And that's how I live
Some niggas can't respect it
Rock up a gatherd necklace, pushin' the ES 300 Lexus
Brother Sharif started teachin' lessons
Chiefin' up reefer, lettin' all the gods relate the message
The flyest niggas ever
Tote guns wherever
Rockin' Cuban links and Armani leathers, but yo
I sold crack on the ave
I got back like: Fuck it, 'cause next day I was back on the ave
And that's my word on everything, Lord
I sold everything, 'cause growin' up
All I heard was Cash Rules Everything
But right now I'm tryna lay low
Get my mind right
Street Entertainment takin' over when the time right
Agin' gettin' older to know I'm not dead
So I'm stuck in hell watchin' grown men shed tears
'Cause where I grew up at
Niggas'll stab you in your fuckin' back
Then no friends live where I live
And that's a fucking fact
Hard top Lex', rockin' baguettes
Cuban links on, modelin' Guess
Probably with TECs
The gnarlies and vets carryin' handguns, flavor lands
Runnin' with real live niggas, silencin' major plans
Yo money actin'
Hustling cracks up, tucked the MACs
And politick, and kid brought the gats in
Beef and broccoli chip twisted
Bullets hit his Benz, listen
Runnin' with drug dealin' niggas
Willin' Vigors
Flyish, rockin' Lacoste, ayo
Connect sniffin' coka
Million dollar niggas sportin' Rovers, yo
Big faces, atleast a hundred grand outta briefcases
Canary stone thrown in the bracelet
Steppin' out
Stress the Lex' out, son
Check us and count, a hustler
One that cop grams for a lesser amount
The plan is: Get the money and bounce
Back to servin' fiends, two for fifteens, no doubt
I'm out, I'm out