| Ayo, fuck these niggas, yo
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| Fuck 'em!
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| Fuckin' voice going out screaming on these niggas
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| I’m a fuckin' legend
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| Get the fuck outta here, yo
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| Ayo, I heard they pray to FLYGOD, you better be
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| Hit the brick with the pedigree
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| Flyer than me, Lord, you can never be
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| I got some niggas, shoot your kids, then get up for an extra key
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| No heart niggas
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| CDG’s hearts on the shark head, pick the coffin niggas
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| I popped up like The Undertaker
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| Six on the stove another brick watch the crystals when it break up
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| Money machines running like Team Jamaica
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| Crept in the cell on the wake-up, left a nigga poked on the bottom bunk bed
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| Hit another brick with the rock bottom, nigga
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| Went out for lunch (went out for lunch)
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| Table-cloth Fendi nigga
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| I fuck around and hit any nigga
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| I’m Jig, not Jigga, nigga
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| That’s Conway, I’m more like Biggs, nigga
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| Listening to Big, nigga
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| Weighing up some big, nigga
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| My nigga did 10
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| He came home looking like Sid Vicious
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| 32 shots’ll flip ya
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| Flip your baby mama
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| Flip your grandmama
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| My nigga did 5
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| Came home looking like Ahmed Johnson
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| What up, my nigga?
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| Bossanova pies with the extra skirt
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| Bought some soda for my guy so he can stretch the work
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| I bet it hurt for niggas to see me bop, Know what they said at first?
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| Con look at your face, you not marketable, it’ll never work
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| Now T’s with my face on it, top-selling shirts
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| I’ve got mills in different countries, boy watch how a legend work
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| Kilo necklace on my shirt, Smith and Wesson work
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| Youngun' shooting on one leg, he call his weapon Dirk
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| Shooters lurk for you, black van with the Hecklers in it
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| Have a nigga wacked before my breakfast finished
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| That bitch kids at school, we in the kitchen cheffin' in it
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| Cook smoke, I let him keep the pot with all the extras in it
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| It’s getting spooky for these rappers, right?
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| Cause they already know that we don’t rap alike
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| They know they ain’t half as nice, I ain’t even have to write
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| I feel like Pun, no wonder these niggas living this afterlife
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| Niagara Cafe, I had the rice with the pollo
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| Quarter brick of the white go for ocho
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| Had to throw the ice in the ro ro
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| Buffalo nigga with a Sean Price mixed with Hov flow
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| They throwing salt, Mr. Fuji, huh
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| They must want a nigga flip it, make a movie, huh
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| It’s pimp or die, you know these hoes out here choosing up
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| You wanna take pictures with rappers, male groupie, huh
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| All my niggas hit the streets, fuck going check to check
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| You got no money in your pockets, yet you fresh to death
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| Kush God bitch, the of best
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| Got the work bustin' through your city like the Lex express
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| He tryna get a plate on the arm
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| The moment he started rubbing me raw
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| I told him you die in a droubt if you wait in a storm
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| In other words, I payed for his bond
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| No damn favors, these grams like Van Vader
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| Landscaping the game, you can’t save it
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| Natural heal, but a fan favorite
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| Here to fuck up the fun, they ain’t fucking with son |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Mr. Fuji , by - Westside Gunn. Song from the album Hitler's Dead, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп