| His spirit moving
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| His prays are ever near
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| That’s how I know he’s real
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| In my heart I feel
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| That’s how I know that God is real yeah what’s more
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| «I hear it in my sleep sometimes…»
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| «See I can see the sound of my glow…»
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| «Rhyme nice…»
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| Ayo, I never gave a fuck, never will
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| Hit him 18 times, he did the windmill
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| My nigga wrote me, said he heard I’m out here killin' shit
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| I put a grand on his books
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| Ayo, Madonna sucking Basquiat dick up in the spot
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| Hundred round drums, fuck around and get chopped
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| Starin' at the turquoise Marilyn
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| Told my little nigga to bag 20's, it’s imperative
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| 40 in the jawn undercovers, the 'caine doin' numbers
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| Lose my work whippin', I’ll leave your brains in the oven
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| Splash paint on my Christopher Kane jumper
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| Crash the Mulsanne, I copped the plane last summer
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| The watch plain Jane, but it still cost 60
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| Ran up in the spot, stole base, Ken Griffey
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| Blood-stained Persians, wide body’s got curtains
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| TEC just jammed, I just left it, shit worthless
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| In the law library, tryin' to get time off
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| Prayin' five times a day, tryin' to get five off
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| Crush Doritos on this wheat rice and turkey, lord
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| I wore my blues to the shower, razor tucked in my jaw
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| Ayo, I never gave a fuck, never will
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| Hit him 18 times, he did the windmill
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| My nigga wrote me, said he heard I’m out here killin' shit
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| I put a grand on his books, look
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| Uh, could’ve told my story on Oprah, 60 Minutes
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| How I earned plenty digits from risky business
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| What you know about a stint? |
| Gotta sit for Christmas
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| Wifey on shit, that bitch missing visits
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| 'Cause we was stretching white like Richard Simmons
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| Caught a case and the nigga pled the 5th amendment
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| Yeah, you know the whip be rented and bricks be in it, uh
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| And I’ma get this chicken 'til my clique get sentenced
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| I need a stash in the wall that whole 90 pies
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| Word to me, I’ve been live since '95
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| Took a trip to get the bag like 90 times
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| Yeah, you got it from your plug, but it’s probably mines
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| All I needed was a trap spot, scale and a plate
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| I ended up on a flat cot, cell upstate
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| Now I really need a black Glock, shells and a tank
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| Yeah, the shit’ll get uglier than Welven Da Great
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| D’s kicked in the door and snatched the four pound
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| My man paid ten stacks just to blow trial
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| Now he callin' home, tellin' the crew to slow down
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| I’d be rich if I knew then what I know now, uh
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| Livin with regrets and I’m still willing to bear it
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| Plus the shoe fits and I’m still willing to wear it
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| It’s hard being a family man with interference
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| All the women and them trips to prison ended my marriage
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| I grew up with the few damn crooks that baked work up
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| Who used to have food stamp books and case workers
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| Me? |
| I’m way further from a place you ain’t heard of
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| Where you get rich, die trying and face murder
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| Where your best friends start to switch when the case surface
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| Where it’s hard to trust a man who ain’t nervous
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| I fell asleep with a 50 grand in a locked apartment
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| That night, I had a dream like Dr. Martin, woo, yeah
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| «I hear it in my sleep sometimes…»
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| «See I can see the sound of my glow…»
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| «Make them say that I’m God…»
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| «Rhyme nice…»
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| Big money, big money
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| Big money, big money
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| Hey, hey, hey, hey
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| You got big money, you got fancy cars
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| Everybody knows you, it’s like you’re a trap star
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| You’re breakin' down bricks, choppin' up O’s
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| Breakin' down bricks, choppin' up O’s |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Shower Shoe Lords , by - Westside Gunn. Song from the album FLYGOD, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп