| N****s feel? |
| cos this shit real fam
|
| Only cop work if its white, or if its real tan
|
| Sixteen in the clip and one in the chamber
|
| Now you hit screaming like a bitch, I thought you was gangster
|
| Laid out bleeding on your kicks dog, my clap is official
|
| Leave the house without your banger, that’s when they get you
|
| Yo lord my third eye shine bright, blinding your sight
|
| You ain’t seen this much crime in your life son
|
| It’s real out in these fields, every night a n**** get killed
|
| I’m outside a club waving a steel, you get your shit peeled
|
| Running up on mine, just cos you got a problem with the kid
|
| Get at the end of something, cos it’s a long line
|
| Field boot, Carhartt brown, conceal the four pound
|
| Let me know if it’s going down, we can get it on right now
|
| (Let's do it)
|
| Two guns up I’m wylin' 'til my days is up
|
| Attacking on shit, trying to fill them cages up
|
| N****s up north will blaze you in the yard, get your face cut
|
| Don’t make me have to run in your cage, you fake fucks
|
| Get your safe touched, I’m straight to the H2 dealer
|
| To spend that cake up, then I’m murking off in that grey truck
|
| Twenty fours and screens in it, watching Casino with the team in it
|
| We? |
| spinners, getting high, I’m looking fly
|
| Jeans cost five hundred, there’s five guns in the trunk
|
| Try your luck and get fucked up, what?
|
| Gucci aviator glasses, Evisu fabrics, blowing a ratchet
|
| Put a hole in you bastards, for practice
|
| Told you homeboy, I’m no average
|
| Try to reach my status and get denied access
|
| Come home on that jail shit, I’ll put a bullet in your helmet
|
| Finish you will send you to hell quick word, this Street Entertainment
|
| You can’t stop us dawg, what you think them choppers for?
|
| (WESTSIDE GUNN)
|
| I’m like sports seventy sliding coupes off the melody
|
| Salam lord, still on the run from a felony
|
| I sold drugs more than half my life, jewellery on
|
| I make n****s wanna snatch my ice, word life
|
| We got Lex coupes and Beamers over here
|
| Pin trigger MACs, bulletproof ask Premier
|
| Handling nines, banana hammers out son tan five
|
| Incline-line Cartiers for the summertime
|
| Le Tigre polos on, three Sixties in a caesar
|
| Big Cuban links looking like we crazy on
|
| Medallion swing, you’re peepin' 'em lord
|
| Breathing through a ski-mask, killing my own peoples to get cash
|
| Fuck 'em, ride through your 'hood in a Beamer wag' yo
|
| Keep the upstate style, fuck Cristal, we drink Henny straight
|
| And turn Sly Green wild, million dollar deals on tables
|
| Canary face Jesus, swinging off a rose-gold cable
|
| Politickin' on OT money, I think Ohio next
|
| Cutter just crashed the E-Class, I think I drive the Lex
|
| Rolex money since eighteen
|
| Having model bitches titties out while they cooking up burn clean
|
| Trump Plaza,? |
| Evisu sagger
|
| Doing in your Birk' handbagger, crack bags filled with fishscale
|
| I do twenty-five to life, as long as I’m rich in jail, A-yo
|
| I hold an automatic, these streets where I’m from it’s heartless
|
| Plus I like big jewels, and y’all n****s starving
|
| Le Roy ?, throwing money out a Porsche
|
| Colourful stones watching Al Capone getting tortured
|
| Drug dealers, cash rule n**** we the illest alive
|
| A bunch of fly killers holding up nines
|
| I’m used to, standing on the block all day with dimes
|
| Salute to blowing up and pushing Q45s
|
| Peace lord, Bentley is all, take the ARs on tour
|
| And? |
| see the? |
| for pure, big chains on just bravado I ain’t a God
|
| Since the days with the four, loaded MAC just in case it turned war
|
| Body died forty shots and I’m look at the board
|
| Since that thirty dollar double-up hustling in front of the store
|
| Word boot in your door, Jesus piece flooded galore
|
| Chrome eight-hundred shot his whole face off |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song '08 Shit , by - Westside Gunn. Song from the album Flyest Nigga In Charge, Vol. 1, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп