Westside Gunn, Keisha Plum - Flyy lyrics

Ayo yo, where the fuck the clock at, yo?

Ayo, they asked if the work swimmin', Lord
Forgive 'em micheal Phelps in the pot
It's reeking up in Connie's kitchen
Nigga put a pinky in the raw
Brick, 20 for a half, no shake
He looked at me and said delicious nigga
Had to learn a little Spanish
You dropped your work and
Then it vanished, put my models on a plate
Not time for table manners
Revolving doors at the penitentiary
Dispensaries calling my name
Raw paper stuffed with headband
I'm the flyest nigga ever on the mic
You disagree and you're dead man
Christian Dior is in the morgue
Had 2 fingers up
In Coco Chanel, New York strip medium well
I left his brains on a Gigi Plate
You fucking with me no way I'm
Fucking genuine like Salt Lay
Ferragamo flight jacket I'm about
To take flight
Niggas'll tell on their moms they
Give that bitch life
Niggas'll tell on their moms they
Give that bitch life

Frank White, King of New York shit
Deep like Queen Afua or E Badu
Mixed with Big in 96 with some
Real fuck a bitch shit
In Plum poetry I trust
Sipping Moet sprinkle with rose petal dust
My life is a blatant contradiction
Pray you and mistreat you
With holistic intentions
Catch that midnight train to Georgia
Call mom dukes tell her you love her
Fly to the heavens in something filthy
Jet black leather, Mason Margiela
Blow a slope, kiss to Griselda
It's like you rocked it before I lived it
I'm on my second lifetime
I'm a young Jesus in his prime
Out here turning water to wine

Keisha Plum, Westside Gunn yeah