| Brr, yeah, yeah
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| Brr, brr, brr, ayo
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| Brr, ayo, check, check
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| Ayo, flowers on the bottles at the Art Basel (Ah)
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| Don’t make me throw hollows, never seen tomorrow (Boom boom boom boom boom boom
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| boom)
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| The .40 in the mono, blew his brains pronto (Boom boom boom)
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| Billion in vinyl, highest nigga I know
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| Draw Elliot trench, flyest nigga I know
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| Bitches love the drip, she rocking new Milano
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| CLS6, my shooter never miss (Skr)
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| Red and white GT, I’m talking peppermint (Skr)
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| Whip a whole brick, my wrist excellent (Ah)
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| Your shit, it came back, that shit decadent (Mmm)
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| Cooking pots looking like the wind
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| Shit, here we go again
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| Crash the '43 and cop the '63 (Skr)
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| Dome shot bought you out your misery (Boom boom boom boom)
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| Pissing me off, you not even raw (Uh uh)
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| Did two bids, not even one score (Uh uh)
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| Black SCAR full, awful (Ah)
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| Bagging up work to Luther Vandross
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| Never too much, never too much, never too much
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| Yeah, yo, yo, let’s go
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| Quarterback and a coach, y’all broke ‘cause y’all standards low
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| Y’all good with them grams of coke, but we need banana boats
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| It come out the pot hot when it lock, gotta fan the dope
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| 'Til it pay for the mansion on the edge of the Atlantic coast
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| Running these bands up, sometimes be my disadvantage though
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| They come with they handout before they ask me to answer no
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| They want the benefits out it, I took the chances though
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| The streets took the innocence out us, I never planned it though
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| I count the money fast, she speaking Spanish slow, uh
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| Rap career, trap career, yeah, I had to manage both
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| Now I’m getting random dough, like I left a ransom note
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| And they only hammer toe on screen when the camera roll
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| Gucci tracksuit, look like I got my pajamas on
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| Who knew I’d jump off my grandma stove and land in gold
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| The streets, nigga, they ain’t know what half a brick can get that white,
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| I’m in the life
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| They don’t leave the house 'til after midnight strike, I’m with that type
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| I shut all my haters up, I did that twice
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| They ask me how I get that nice
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| And I don’t have a pad nor a pen that write
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| They say my flow cold as a December night
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| And only time I write is when I send a kite, free all my niggas (Ah) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song B.I.G Luther Freestyle , by - Westside Gunn. Song from the album Hitler Wears Hermes 6, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп