Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Shower Shoe Lords, artist - Westside Gunn. Album song FLYGOD, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 10.03.2016
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Griselda
Song language: English
Shower Shoe Lords |
| His spirit moving |
| His prays are ever near |
| That’s how I know he’s real |
| In my heart I feel |
| That’s how I know that God is real yeah what’s more |
| «I hear it in my sleep sometimes…» |
| «See I can see the sound of my glow…» |
| «Rhyme nice…» |
| Ayo, I never gave a fuck, never will |
| Hit him 18 times, he did the windmill |
| My nigga wrote me, said he heard I’m out here killin' shit |
| I put a grand on his books |
| Ayo, Madonna sucking Basquiat dick up in the spot |
| Hundred round drums, fuck around and get chopped |
| Starin' at the turquoise Marilyn |
| Told my little nigga to bag 20's, it’s imperative |
| 40 in the jawn undercovers, the 'caine doin' numbers |
| Lose my work whippin', I’ll leave your brains in the oven |
| Splash paint on my Christopher Kane jumper |
| Crash the Mulsanne, I copped the plane last summer |
| The watch plain Jane, but it still cost 60 |
| Ran up in the spot, stole base, Ken Griffey |
| Blood-stained Persians, wide body’s got curtains |
| TEC just jammed, I just left it, shit worthless |
| In the law library, tryin' to get time off |
| Prayin' five times a day, tryin' to get five off |
| Crush Doritos on this wheat rice and turkey, lord |
| I wore my blues to the shower, razor tucked in my jaw |
| Ayo, I never gave a fuck, never will |
| Hit him 18 times, he did the windmill |
| My nigga wrote me, said he heard I’m out here killin' shit |
| I put a grand on his books, look |
| Uh, could’ve told my story on Oprah, 60 Minutes |
| How I earned plenty digits from risky business |
| What you know about a stint? |
| Gotta sit for Christmas |
| Wifey on shit, that bitch missing visits |
| 'Cause we was stretching white like Richard Simmons |
| Caught a case and the nigga pled the 5th amendment |
| Yeah, you know the whip be rented and bricks be in it, uh |
| And I’ma get this chicken 'til my clique get sentenced |
| I need a stash in the wall that whole 90 pies |
| Word to me, I’ve been live since '95 |
| Took a trip to get the bag like 90 times |
| Yeah, you got it from your plug, but it’s probably mines |
| All I needed was a trap spot, scale and a plate |
| I ended up on a flat cot, cell upstate |
| Now I really need a black Glock, shells and a tank |
| Yeah, the shit’ll get uglier than Welven Da Great |
| D’s kicked in the door and snatched the four pound |
| My man paid ten stacks just to blow trial |
| Now he callin' home, tellin' the crew to slow down |
| I’d be rich if I knew then what I know now, uh |
| Livin with regrets and I’m still willing to bear it |
| Plus the shoe fits and I’m still willing to wear it |
| It’s hard being a family man with interference |
| All the women and them trips to prison ended my marriage |
| I grew up with the few damn crooks that baked work up |
| Who used to have food stamp books and case workers |
| Me? |
| I’m way further from a place you ain’t heard of |
| Where you get rich, die trying and face murder |
| Where your best friends start to switch when the case surface |
| Where it’s hard to trust a man who ain’t nervous |
| I fell asleep with a 50 grand in a locked apartment |
| That night, I had a dream like Dr. Martin, woo, yeah |
| «I hear it in my sleep sometimes…» |
| «See I can see the sound of my glow…» |
| «Make them say that I’m God…» |
| «Rhyme nice…» |
| Big money, big money |
| Big money, big money |
| Hey, hey, hey, hey |
| You got big money, you got fancy cars |
| Everybody knows you, it’s like you’re a trap star |
| You’re breakin' down bricks, choppin' up O’s |
| Breakin' down bricks, choppin' up O’s |