| Ay, yo
|
| Ay, yo
|
| Jeremy Scott, Moschino apron
|
| Used to do 100 up’s, 100 dips on a yard baking
|
| We spent the max of commissary, sly coming home in Neveruary
|
| He washed my hands, I washed his, you talking, you’ll get buried
|
| Valentino velour suits in the mess hall, sucka think he prettier than me,
|
| cut his neck off
|
| Keep slacking, MAC-11 out the G-Wagon
|
| , pistol-whip the kid, he picked his teeth up
|
| Zipper bust on the angle duffle when we re’d up
|
| Fiends on the block haven’t seen this cashmere ski-mask shit
|
| The heat blasting, Gina’s titties sagging while she bagging
|
| Suede prada jackets, Balenciaga’s burgundy
|
| Tom Ford still wanna murder me for nothing
|
| Different color shark heads, BAPEin'
|
| He shot up and started shaking
|
| He fell through a glass wall, I hit the backdoor
|
| Praise me, I’m so elegant
|
| Used to rock the Alex McQueen, with the skeleton
|
| Elephant tusks on the Cartiers, got me looking all intelligent
|
| Every shell hit him, I’m the perfectionist
|
| Mr. Perfect, Bobby Heenan fiending
|
| Perfect Plex the brick, broke it down, it got me rich
|
| Perfect Plex the brick, broke it down, it got me rich
|
| Like Bob, I shot the sheriff
|
| My lady chill behind the wheel of the Silver Seraph
|
| His body lay still, I sip the chill beverage
|
| Devilish endeavors and levers to quench my never-ending list of pleasures
|
| Bitches send pictures naked, dripping necklace
|
| No pig in this breakfast, the stick could get your Mrs. pregnant
|
| She said her man played for the Knicks, this nigga 6'11
|
| She begging, I skeeted liquid on Egyptian bedding
|
| I’m not the kid to threaten, my niggas’ll kick your head in
|
| My facial hair is cashmere, Pink diamonds to glare, look like Bel-Air
|
| Balmain Pierre, feel like we ate pears, copped like 8 pairs
|
| I’m a complicated man, that’s a used Porsche Cayenne on pants
|
| My laundry’s a 40g orgy
|
| Talks of lawyer fees in Portuguese, my wrist is a quarter key
|
| The Corniche seats is coffee, The chauffeur driver caught 14
|
| That nigga head leaking like egg florentine
|
| The Jag coups, the color of passionfruit
|
| I’m packing, life’s a crap shoot
|
| The Penny’s black and blue, spray the MAC off the roof
|
| I’m just testing it
|
| Shit I hit everything, they thought I was Petrović
|
| Shots perpetuous
|
| Give you some wet red shit, dress you in
|
| Perfect Plex the brick, I almost broke the rollie president
|
| Perfect Plex the brick, I almost broke the rollie president |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Perfect Plex , by - Westside Gunn. Song from the album Fourth Rope, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп