Lyrics The Curve - Termanology, Conway, Westside Gunn

The Curve

Hopefully, I’m moving on
Resigning to chill
We’ve been dealing with some things
The reason, the reason goes particular, ideas are so important to me
Yo, clip so long you got a curve
Right out my mama back hall they got served
Still spitting small heads when we copping 'burbs
I got shot, ate the bullets, they was hors d’oeuvres
I only want it if it’s wrapped up
The bullets hit his body like a mac truck
The blue money in the safe stacked up
Gold cuffs on the Ferragamo belt, mac tucked
Ayo, throwing up red sticks, why you niggas starving
Billy hatchback, the prince just saw a nigga balling
Uh, I throw the yay-o on the scale
Rock it and then, get rid of it like McHale
The O.G., white as hell, nigga smell!
12 gold slugs mad Chanel (uhu)
Shoot outs in broad day, baby
100K shipped from Haiti
North Face, fuck a mink
Northside, tuck ya link
Bitch you better bring me a bottle, cuz motha fuck a drink
My scale fiends for that hundred grams
Kidnap ya lil queen for that 100 bands
Have her doing acrobatics in the trunk
Her lil heart beat boxing, every time we hit a bump
I’m a savage, I’ll shoot the fucking cabbage off of a Trump
In a Bill Clinton shirt, rocks crackling in the blunt
Too much rust on the hammer gotta wear gloves
Shaved knuckles and hands, about to kill the plug
Tried to trade in my guns but I was still in love
I’m young Vito, runnin' numbers and stealing rugs
Half a brick on the table in all dubs
My hands all stiff from the razor and all numb
My click them boriqua cats that stab thugs
My whole team Cypress Hill fans, we blast Muggs