Benny the Butcher, Westside Gunn - B.I.G. Luther Freestyle lyrics

Brrt, yeah, yeah brrt, brrt, brrt, ayo
Brrt, ayo check, check

Ayo, flowers on the bottles at the Art Basel
(Ah) don't make me throw hollows
Never see tomorrow
(Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
The forty in the mono, blew his brains pronto
(Boom boom boom)
Billion in vinyl, highest nigga I know
John Elliot trench, flyest nigga I know
Bitches love the drip, she rocking new Milano
CLS6, my shooter never miss (Skrrt)
Red and white GT, I'm talking peppermint
(Skrrt)
Whip a whole brick, my wrist excellent (Ah)
The shit, it came back, that shit decadent
(M-m-m) cooking pots looking like the wind
Shit, here we go again
Crash the '43 and cop the '63 (Skrrt)
Dome shot brought you out your misery
(Boom, boom, boom, boom)
Pissing me off, you not even raw (Uh, uh)
Did two bids, not even one score (Uh, uh)
Black SCAR full, awful (Ah)
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 hand out before
They ask me to answer no
They want the benefit's 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 hammertoe on screen
When the camera roll gucci tracksuit
Look like I got my pajamas on
Who knew I'd jump off my grandma's
Stove and land in gold? The streets, nigga
They ain't know a half a
Brick can get that white, i'm in that 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 (Ah)