Lyrics No Problems - Westside Gunn

No Problems - Westside Gunn
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song No Problems, artist - Westside Gunn. Album song Flyest Nigga In Charge, Vol. 1, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 01.01.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Griselda
Song language: English

No Problems

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

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Artist lyrics: Westside Gunn