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claires back - westside gunn lyrics

[part i]

[intro: dj clue? & westside gunn]
world famous dj clue?, desert storm (ayo)
westside gunn (brrt, brrt)
y’all n*ggas frontin’, man
y’all big homies ain’t got no paper (ayo, ayo, brrt, brrt, ayo)
we still spendin’ money from ’99 (brrt, brrt)
shout to griselda (ayo, brrt)
let’s go (ayo, ayo), griselda

[chorus: westside gunn]
how your big homie don’t got no money? (ah)
travis scott factors, armani rugby (ah)
rodeo, n*ggas in ferrari buggies (skrrt)
you ever woke up with a bottom bunkie? (mmm)
the n*ggas who used to love me don’t love me (uh*uh)
got so much money, told that b*tch “don’t touch me” (woo)
ayo (ah)
got so much money, told that b*tch “don’t touch me” (woo)

[verse 1: westside gunn]
ayo, amiri high tops with the bones (with the bones, ah)
you ever pull it out, you’d better shoot it ’til it’s all gone (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
if you make it back, you know it’s on (you know it’s on, ah)
name another rapper kickin’ chopper on the phone (brring)
sellin’ brick after brick after brick, i’m in the zone (ah)
my n*gga found god, now he in a cell readin’ job
we on the rec yard, me scoob like ike and stones (ah)
tell ye we need to have sunday service in this ho
got the pole on me, make the wrong move, he’s on the floor (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
he took a headshot, now when he talk, he talkin’ slow (ah)
drove bricks a thousand miles, no bad chromogenic
four hundred flat, i was gettin’ money like that (ah)
get you k!lled for five thousand on a weekday
left bennett, had dice games up in pete sake’s
more vintage, ecw, sandman off the rope
[chorus: westside gunn]
ayo, how your big homie don’t got no money? (ah)
travis scott factors, armani rugby (ah)
rodeo, n*ggas in ferrari buggies (skrrt)
you ever woke up with a bottom bunkie? (mmm)
the n*ggas who used to love me don’t love me (uh*uh)
got so much money, told that b*tch “don’t touch me” (woo)
ayo (ah)
got so much money, told that b*tch “don’t touch me” (woo)

[interlude: westside gunn]
ayo
that’s f*ckin god, n*gga (that’s f*ckin god, n*gga)
the richard mille on my motherf*ckin’ wrist, that’s god, n*gga (ah)
the kilo on my other wrist, that’s god, n*gga (ah)
the three kilos on my neck, that’s god, n*gga
a hundred in each ear, that’s god, n*gga (woo)
thirty thousand in my mouth, that’s god, n*gga
and i still got about half a million somewhere else
i don’t even f*ckin’ put on no more, n*gga (uh*uh)
that’s god, n*gga
see, i get offended easily (very f*ckin’ easily)
stupid b*tch gon’ ask me if i was a millionaire
i got that sh*t in art, b*tch (b*tch)
i got three cars that’s a million, b*tch (stupid b*tch)
i got that in jewels, b*tch, i got that in clothes, b*tch
you do the f*ckin’ math (you do the f*ckin’ math)
eastside buffalo n*gga (ah)
0*5*5, free my n*gga sly (free kutter, free lo’)
free hot (free my n*gga cease)
ah
[part ii]

[skit]
and this sport seems to just get a little more violent every time i step into the ring
please, ladies and gentleman, here on long island
welcome the world television champion
griselda

[intro: conway the machine]
brrt
you know we still in the streets, n*gga (brrt)
still gettin’ money outside, n*gga, look

[verse 1: conway the machine & benny the butcher]
the scorpion and the scale, that’s why they gotta pay us
violators still got old blood dried up on the razor (ah)
fry the yay up, got every arm & hammer box from the bodega
now i’m way up and i’ve run out of favors, hope y’all got y’all weight up (got your weight up, n*gga)
they try to score on us, we chase down, block the layup (ha)
yopper sprayer, y’all n*ggas is federal cooperators (hahahaha)
three money counters on the counter count my paper
hundred thousand dollar wagers when i’m out in vegas (talk to ’em)
my b*tch hop out of a bentayga, body like teyana taylor
sellin’ dog, you know my product come from outta venezuela (woo)
bricks of fentanyl for forty, i got za in different flavors (ah)
catch me rockin’ all my jewelry courtside watchin’ the lakers (machine, b*tch)
b*tch, my life’s so beautiful
used to bag five eights, i had white in my cuticles (uh*huh)
my shooter poppin’ thirties, he must like pharmaceuticals
thirty on him, ain’t no tellin’ what he might come do to you (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
cullinan, you know it’s me, you see the white one movin’ through (you see me, b*tch)
got a beam on the stick
griselda, we the true and livin’ kings of this sh*t (griselda, ah)
fashion rebel purple brand jeans with the stitch (uh*huh, uh*huh, you know that)
it’s conway aka the machine, b*tch (brrt, uh)
[verse 2: benny the butcher]
this sh*t i learned in the trenches just made us felons (for real)
did a bid and when i wrote to the crib, she saved the letters
when you come up and they don’t get to eat with you, that make ’em jealous (p*ssy)
you should only be concerned ’bout the paper we made together
sorry, i’m not sorry, block parties to yacht parties
i’m a trapper, i answer first thing when the pot call me
speedin’, doin’ sixty over the limit in drop ‘raris (skrrt, skrrt)
if i can’t make brick money off it, it’s not for me
land in your city private, you know hot boys do (griselda)
the driver on the tarmac, you know hot boys move (ah)
in three suburbans back to back, we bring the convoy through (bring the convoy though)
i rode in five hundred horses without the cowboy boots, n*gga (foreigns, n*gga)
my rep with the connect, that’s what got me the work cheap
i’m independent, still my numbers be solid the first week
i’m the butcher, n*ggas load up they glocks when they heard me (brrt)
i make december 25th feel like friday the 13th
when i told def jam my number, they said, “no problem” (okay, okay)
seven figures just to rap, it feel like i robbed ’em (hahahaha)
i’m the truth, but ask these rappers and they gon’ say i’m a problem
and i get it ’cause i did it like guy fisher in harlem, n*gga (ah)

[outro: benny the butcher]
griselda
the butcher comin’, n*gga

- westside gunn lyrics

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