B.I.G Luther Freestyle
Westside Gunn; Benny
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Ayo, flowers on the bottles at the Art Basel
Don't make me throw hollows, never seen tomorrow
The .40 in the mono, blew his brains pronto
Billion in vinyl, highest nigga I know
Draw Elliot trench, flyest nigga I know
Bitches love the drip, she rocking new Milano
CLS6, my shooter never miss
Red and white GT, I'm talking peppermint
Whip a whole brick, my wrist excellent
Your shit, it came back, that shit decadent
Cooking pots looking like the wind
Shit, here we go again
Crash the '43 and cop the '63
Dome shot bought you out your misery
Pissing me off, you not even raw
Did two bids, not even one score
Black SCAR full, awful
Bagging up work to Luther Vandross
Never too much, never too much, never too much
Yeah, yo, yo, let's go
Quarterback and a coach, y'all broke 'cause y'all standards low
Y'all good with them grams of coke, but we need banana boats
It come out the pot hot when it lock, gotta fan the dope
'Til it pay for the mansion on the edge of the Atlantic coast
Running these bands up, sometimes be my disadvantage though
They come with they handout before they ask me to answer no
They want the benefits out it, I took the chances though
The streets took the innocence out us, I never planned it though
I count the money fast, she speaking Spanish slow, uh
Rap career, trap career, yeah, I had to manage both
Now I'm getting random dough, like I left a ransom note
And they only hammer toe on screen when the camera roll
Gucci tracksuit, look like I got my pajamas on
Who knew I'd jump off my grandma stove and land in gold
The streets, nigga,
they ain't know what half a brick can get that white, I'm in the life
They don't leave the house 'til
after midnight strike, I'm with that type
I shut all my haters up, I did that twice
They ask me how I get that nice
And I don't have a pad nor a pen that write
They say my flow cold as a December night
And only time I write is when I send a kite, free all my niggas