EXPLICIT

Ray Mysterio

The Alchemist, Westside Gunn, Conway

Lyrics

Ayo (brrt)

Ayo, ayo, ayo, ayo (ayo, ayo)

Luxurious fly shit (brrt, brrt)

Ayo (ayo)

Turn Judas for them Yeezy Season 3s

The pump's in the sleeves, don't make a nigga reach

Coke look bleach, pots and forks by the sink

Busted duct tape, that shit stink (shit stink, nigga)

Same night off for a week

Off-white collab, the MAC hangin' out the Lambo Jeep (brrt)

If you slip, I better catch yo' ass

Gave you 32 real fast (real fast)

My nigga this Hall and Nash

The imperial

Everything we shoot got no serials

This fly shit through your stereos

Coke flip like Ray Mysterio (now listen)

You fuck niggas don't hear me though

This that Fashion Avenue flow

Get it like Tuna in Blow and then we blow

(They can't do nothin' but respect us) ow

(Man, listen, we got EmpresSil) yeah

Talk to them bloodclaat, zeen? (You was already fucking up)

(Betta watch yo' head)

Look, name a rapper that's half as ill

That can match the skill that's half as real

Niggas be sayin', "Con, you have to chill"

'Cause I be spazzin' still, I swear these sucka niggas weird

Rap is good, but I will clap 'em still and fuck up my career (facts)

I ain't worried 'bout a jail

Don't give a fuck about them years (uh-uh)

Wild until I get the needle or I fuckin' get the chair

You got a blicky, but you pussy niggas bust it out of fear

My shooter in fatigues

Shotty like he huntin' for a deer, yeah (boom, boom, boom)

Run down on you and fire twice

The bullet wound lookin' like a lion bite

Bullets lookin' like a half a stick of dynamite

I was buyin' guns when you other niggas was buyin' Nikes

Rhymin' like Esco in the '90s, flow raw as a line of white

I beat your favorite rapper with an iron pipe (okay)

In the winter, fly to LA, where the climate right

Fuckin' the kinda hoes you'll never fuck in your entire life

Uh, Versace belt just to tuck the ratchet (uh-huh)

Can smell the piss on them bricks before I bust the plastic (okay)

Shooters lurkin' for you, they in fuckin' traffic (they lurkin')

They won't rest until they put you in a fuckin' casket, uh (brrt)

Had to really, really do something to get killed

Let's take it right on on, everything will be alright, y'all

You said good for what?

The streets love ain't about love, you know

Bottom line (bottom line, word up)

It's a whole different code

That, that's where the gang's at

The fuck is that? What's that?

Fuck you talkin' 'bout?

I don't run from the bag

I know one thing for sure, you won't be seen on the album

Fuck that niceness, see, y'all be nice, you know I'm sayin'

I'm in my fucking bag

(You gon' get loud, ah) are you dumb?

Probably ain't got no record player nowhere

So there you are, you getting the 411

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