Westside Gunn, Keisha Plum - Lessie lyrics

Ayo, in pocket sales for the mail
Chanels redrum (Ah)
Thirty hangin' out the well done
We live in Hell, son
Residue in my fingernail
Weigh to split with a hand scale
Three hundred grams'll leave your man still
(Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Don't mind me speakin' coke
I talk it fluent
Word to ChineGun, I dropped the brick
It came back congruent (Ah)
Why you stuntin'? (Why you stuntin'?)
Why your ears fifty a piece? Lord
You buggin' (Lord, you buggin')
Slam the stove like "Hacksaw" Jim Duggan
(Like "Hacksaw" Jim Duggan, ah)
Yo, the kick on the MAC like Aleister Black
(Brr, brr, ah)
Black got caught, he ain't never came back
(He ain't never came back) remain solid
Greet my brothers with kayfa ḥal-uk
(Kayfa ḥal-uk)
On the cot, gained the knowledge (Ah)
Shootouts with your stylist (Brr, brr, ah)
These kicks three thousand dollars
Ayo, my clip, plus his clip, plus his clip
(Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot
Boom, boom, boom, boom
Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom
Boom, boom, boom, brr, brr)
My shot will shoot your block down, nigga
For the fuck of it
(Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, boom
Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom
Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom
For the fuck of it, ah)
Put money on your head
You'll be dead by dinner time
(Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom
Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom
Boom, boom, boom, you'll be
Dead by dinner time, brr)
The MAC-13, squeeze it like lemon lime
(Squeeze it like lemon lime, brr)

Niggas will put a price on your
Life and won't think twice
Sicilians that will slice
Slice dope still like prosciutto
Rocked to sleep by a Geisha
Doll straight from Tokyo
I'm the ghetto Diana Ross
He's the hood Billy Dee
Sexiest poet on the planet
Epiphany of destiny
Toni Morrison with a pistol, oxycontin
Methamphetamine crystals
All these niggas startin'
To sound unofficial
Balmain cufflinks, Dapper Dan threadings
Saint Lucia ocean front weddings
From a city of monsters
Demons, schemin', kidnappin'
And beheadings where your own blood will
Take the witness stand
And this forty'll take him right
Back to the promised land
Chasin' Ferraris, spiralin' out of control
Grimy bitch from the gutter
And I mean that from my soul

Ayo, it's Westside Pootie
And we still gettin' money
Six cars in the driveway and
Six bedrooms in the house
I'm seven years old
Eatin' one hundred dollar plates
Y'all don't know what that taste like
Gucci shoes, Gucci socks, Gucci pants
Gucci top
But the hat Louis, we tasteless, yeah, yeah
We tasteless three years ago
I told y'all to stop copyin' off my daddy
And y'all still broke, this is Griselda
Griselda