| Yeah, yeah
|
| Stand up, niggas (Stand up niggas)
|
| It is what it is, man
|
| The mayor’s back
|
| Two chain Benny man (What up?)
|
| It’s your boy Superstar Carter (Y'all know who I am)
|
| Homicide Kannon (Yeah)
|
| Westside Gunn
|
| I hear these broke niggas talkin' 'bout how they on the grind
|
| On the block with a bundle of dimes, listen (Haha)
|
| In the trunk, I got a bundle of pies
|
| I’m young and stuntastic like Lovie in his prime (What up?)
|
| Yeah, I’m well respected, but still I lug a nine
|
| They don’t violate often, but a nigga might try
|
| Every now and then, but the nigga gotta die
|
| Have his mom like Jada, runnin' 'round, askin', «Why?»
|
| Her oldest boy ain’t here no more, he wasn’t shit anyway
|
| So it’s only barely pour
|
| But they pop bottles of Remy when they hear this song
|
| It’s fair to say that everybody kinda glad now that the nigga gone
|
| I’m a young cat, but you know I been a boss
|
| So when the war’s on, I ain’t gotta get involved
|
| All I do, give a call to the homies, fill a car
|
| Up with goons, ride out, and go kill his mom
|
| Some of the guns are small but all of the clips is long
|
| You can relate if you on the type of shit I’m on
|
| I’ma be a menace on the streets 'til I’m dead and gone
|
| I kill for nothing, you ain’t even gotta piss me off
|
| Yo, yo
|
| Hoppin' gates with them ski masks on, relax, born marvelous
|
| Fresh, pickin' up bricks for Escobar
|
| And yo, it’s Westside (Westside), Fendi frames in the nighttime
|
| Franck Muller, swear to God that we’re holding black nines
|
| Smoke’s famous in the crack spot, standin' over some glass pots
|
| Blew his brains out with the last shot
|
| New Maserati cost mad guap
|
| Black Champion hoods, we hood, posted up with the ooh-wops
|
| Yo, I’m never gon' change salam lord, hop in the Range
|
| Bulletproof whips because of the fame (Okay)
|
| Ayo scrams, look at 'em glance up
|
| 50 grand, cocaine glance
|
| Coppin' dollars, stashin' dope on the scene
|
| Rock a Ralph Lauren peacoat, six Porsche
|
| Keys on blow, flyest nigga you know (Flyest nigga you know)
|
| Ayo, that 7:45 bangin', slangin'
|
| Cuban stick in the motherfucker, price hangin'
|
| Nice, ain’t it? |
| Famous, gemstar raisin'
|
| Choppin' the work, for half a mil', bartend the basement
|
| Yo, Supreme, universal,
|
| Grew up to be a drug dealer’s son, shot the Mac off
|
| Brightley with the Bentley wings, real niggas do real things
|
| Hoppin' out of Bimmers, fuckin' with kings (Okay)
|
| Westside Gunn’s story, just star me and the fiends
|
| made half a gram on the
|
| Threw a piece to the lookout, I’m leavin' the block a G in the pot
|
| Seizing keys from your spot squeezin' the Glock
|
| Believe it or not, the K will have you bleedin' a lot
|
| That new Rover I’ve been meanin' to cop
|
| Flip words like work on the first search
|
| The ghetto in the Black Phantom, see nice jewels at random, peep
|
| rock you to sleep |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song No Problems , by - Westside Gunn. Song from the album Flyest Nigga In Charge, Vol. 1, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп