[Into: Westside Gunn]
Listen...
Griselda...

[Verse 1: Westside Gunn]
Ayo, your arms too short to box the Flygod
Saber, Just Don, Brand Python
Balenciaga, and a Sway
My brother dropped out of school
That n***a' rather get paid
I graduated high school
Skipped college, went straight to the fed
My man said he'd rather do life than rather be dead
Balmain [?] 500 a lead
Burgundy toast for the feds
Chains on, the brick in 36 pieces
Mac in the [?]
White on white Lambo truck
They thought the kid was Jesus
I could turn one to two
My shooters rocking trench in the summer, too
Ya'll n***as' peasants
I'm excellence, Pyrex
We dressed in measurements
Only give a bitch dick and peppermint, ayo
Walk like a drug dealer, talk like a drug dealer
Dress like a drug dealer, SKS for a fuck n***a'
Giuseppe with the gold balls, buckets full of gold bottles
Silk Versace Venice shit, Medusa heads with the gold goggles
Rose-gold Marcielago
They wacked Escobar
Welcome Home, Chapo
Spending blood money up in Birdhoff
Betty Halbreich knocking birds off
Ingredients, Arm & Hammer mix
Pour crystal in the pot, gotta' taste the riche
Gettin' million on the corner
Fly as fuck, eating [?]
[?] pussy on a foreign
[Verse 2: Conway the Machine]
I ain't heard one n***a' that's fucking with the boy, yet
I'm the Ferrari Scaglietti, you a Corvette
Seen my man shot, bleeding on my doorstep
Had me run a 22 on me, Tony Dorset
Homie, I've forever been raw
Better than ya'll, and I'm rapping with a shell in my jaw
The doctor said I damaged my nerves, it's Bells Palsy
They tried to mug me I just shook the shells off me
Told 'em I'm the machine, that's what they call me
Half my face paralyzed, fuck it, record me
I mean how they gon' ignore me
All the bitches applaud me, the city should award me
Your song need help, I would tell you, call me
But I don't do features with n***as' they can't afford me
The 2013 sittin' on 4 G
Racks in the stash I ain't spending till' I'm 40
I go and get 'em, then I send 'em over
Adrian Peterson with a brick, I'm Minnesota
My money gettin' long so my women colder
Big chain get me wild cat, Villanova
We the next guys up
Only in GxF I trust
A month in the county, It was just my luck
I left a burner in the stash, damn, the tech might rust
You know the best white Is chef'd right up
You whip it just right, it just might fluff
We gettin' money lately, Black Chyna just might fuck
She see the Lamb sittin' next to the jet-like truck
Whoa...
You know, Barkley and Kenny Smith
[?] my closet, Barkley's and Penny shits
Ay why you talkin', you been a bitch
The AR extended clip tore Ligaments
I'm listening, go 'head with your diss track homie
And see if I don't leave you with a shit bag, homie
Shoot the trap up, with this mac on me
I'm taking over New York, bitch that's Tony
Hol' up