Music Video

Upcoming Concerts for Westside Gunn

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Lyrics

[Verse 1]
El don't hold punches, this that flying fists of fury
You wish I had no leg to stand on with no pediatrist to cure me
My life was like eggs Benedict, crème brûlée, it's slammed today
Tomorrow's lobster macaroni, clam soufflé and
Those truly wack, who swear they got the crown
Get they rubies jacked
My dogs'll smack you up like Scooby snacks
He face major or minimum slaughter
I wouldn't hold my breath swimming in water
Wanna stay winning more than women wants a feminine daughter
Or men who wants a masculine son
To teach how to shoot baskets and guns for fun
You in the presence of a Jedi, gypsy read my palm and said
I'd make it past the age that most thought I'd be dead by
That's one year shy of the GOAT, born out in Bedstuy
And kids after these artists overdosing off a med high
Ruin your dance, spoil your whole night
What's in my loose leaf is hitting hard like it was rolled tight
Something you shouldn't take light
Different from what the fake write, similar to a snake bite
You rather me slow up or see my brake lights
Then make flight from Detroit to Buffalo, puffing dro
You in bad shape like my toughest fro
I'm well rounded like David Ruffin's fro
Cuffing your main squeeze before my plane leaves
I'm so cold, she slurp me up and catch a brain freeze
Then I stroke and smack it in a smokin' jacket
Oakland mackin' on some coke and yak shit
[Verse 2]
Boom boom boom boom boom
Hey yo, .45 shells poppin' out, straight drilling shit
Lagerfield rocking head to toe in a nemesis
PJ spilling, still a fish in the Fisker
Dragged through Soho, right in front of Kith
Reminiscing in my cell, I used to have the block clicking
Duffle bag filled with hollow points was the mission
Ran up on him at his mama's house, gave him the business
(Boom boom boom boom boom)
He tried to give me dirty counterfeit for a chicken
No, no, no, no, three quarter Balenciagas
These never dropping, don't even bother
Tight gloves on the chopper, Stone Island fishing
Then jump a brick, wanna call a thousand dollar lineup
Chill, I just sold bricks for real
I took a pay cut when I signed my deal
This for the culture, you wouldn't understand my sculpture
This feeling is torture, I'm ultra (I'm ultra)
Rhyming well, but I ain't tell
Before I rat, I rather fry in Hell
What you know about laundry bags filled with mail?
Twenty stamps'll make you a book
You never ran the phone, you **** was shook, shook
You never ran the phone, you **** was shook, shook
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