Westside Gunn, DJ Clue?, Conway The Machine, Benny the Butcher - Claires Back lyrics

World famous DJ Clue?, Desert Storm (Ayo)
Westside Gunn (Brrt, brrt)
Y'all niggas 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

How your big homie don't got no money? (Ah)
Travis Scott factors, Armani rugby (Ah)
Rodeo, niggas in Ferrari buggies (Skrrt)
You ever woke up with a bottom bunkie?
(M-m-m)
The niggas who used to love me don't love me
(Uh, uh) got so much money
Told that bitch "Don't touch me" (Woo)
Ayo (Ah) got so much money
Told that bitch "Don't touch me" (Woo)

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 nigga 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 killed for five thousand on a weekday
Left Bennett
Had dice games up in Pete Sake's
More vintage, ECW, Sandman off the rope

Ayo, how your big homie don't got no money?
(Ah) travis Scott factors, Armani rugby (Ah)
Rodeo, niggas in Ferrari buggies (Skrrt)
You ever woke up with a bottom bunkie?
(M-m-m)
The niggas who used to love me don't love me
(Uh, uh) got so much money
Told that bitch "Don't touch me" (Woo)
Ayo (Ah) got so much money
Told that bitch "Don't touch me" (Woo)

Ayo that's fuckin God, nigga
(That's fuckin God, nigga)
The Richard Mille on my
Motherfuckin' wrist, that's God, nigga (Ah)
The kilo on my other wrist, that's God, nigga
(Ah)
The three kilos on my neck, that's God, nigga
A hundred in each ear, that's God, nigga
(Woo)
Thirty thousand in my mouth, that's God
Nigga and I still got about half
A million somewhere else
I don't even fuckin' put on no more, nigga
(Uh, uh) that's God, nigga
See, I get offended easily
(Very fuckin' easily)
Stupid bitch gon' ask me if
I was a millionaire
I got that shit in art, bitch (Bitch)
I got three cars that's a million, bitch
(Stupid bitch) i got that in jewels, bitch
I got that in clothes, bitch
You do the fuckin' math
(You do the fuckin' math)
Eastside Buffalo nigga (Ah)
0-5-5, free my nigga Sly
(Free Kutter, free Lo')
Free Hot (Free my nigga Cease) ah

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

Brrt you know we still in the streets, nigga
(Brrt)
Still gettin' money outside, nigga, look

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, nigga)
They try to score on us, we chase down
Block the layup (Ha) yopper sprayer
Y'all niggas is federal cooperators
(Ha ha haha) three money counters on the
Counter count my paper
Hundred thousand dollar wagers when
I'm out in Vegas (Talk to 'em)
My bitch 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, bitch)
Bitch, 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, bitch) got a beam on the stick
Griselda, we the true and livin'
Kings of this shit (Griselda, ah)
Fashion Rebel Purple Brand jeans
With the stitch
(Uh huh, uh huh, you know that)
It's Conway AKA the Machine, bitch (Brrt, uh)

This shit 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
(Pussy) 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, nigga
(Foreigns, nigga) 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
Niggas 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 (Ha ha haha)
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, nigga (Ah)

Griselda the Butcher comin', nigga