Westside Gunn - Hell on Earth, Pt. 2 Lyrics

Let the kitchen drench, so much remixing, we vicious
Out of Oakland in the Rolls, might’ve been one of Felix’s
Stuck with a dealer’s mentality
Bricks on top of squares on the bed, we work for God figure salary
Got the dope stench stuck in the walls, Dior goggles
Win a bag of dope, reeking of C.R.E.A.M
The gold bottle, drinking gold bottles, gun on my hip
I’m not a role model, bullets in the air, I’ll make your soul follow
I win the lotto in Tulum, caught him in the shower
Beat him with a mop and broom, his chopper’s in the locker room
We doing operations, niggas left the zippers
I’m in the X-7, whole neck glitter
A cold world make the TEC shiver, don’t contest that
I be at where you rest at
So many chains on, bitches asking where my neck at (Where your neck at, nigga?)
The band on the TEC black, my nigga blew the trial
Heard he got mad [?] super max
Word is I’m diesel like Luger
Turned one to three and yelled «Hallelujah»

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
We’re going to see the king, ah, ah, ah

[Benny the Butcher:]
It’s crazy that I’m still talkin’ yola, made a brick do yoga
I know ’bout hard white and them ex-con flights to Oklahoma
A pale heart, I’m Dale Earnhardt with a smoking motor
Black Sopranos, I took the oath full of Cosa Nostra
Did it my way, I got the most of these culture vultures
You gotta pay me what you owe, or nope, I won’t consult ya
I did more numbers with half your budget, I hope it woke ya
I put a brick on my block and a yacht in the open ocean
The felon, I’ve been convicted, irrelevant what I’m spending
But what matter is I’m doing better than what’s predicted
Mm, should’ve got a grammy, nah but fuck it though
‘Cause Royce and Freddie family ties
Frank Lucas video, the Miami vibe, this life crazy
Every minute someone recording you
They ask me if I feel famous now, nigga, of course I do
Corporate moves, my office and my business resources grew
Took the long road, you niggas looking for shortcuts through
Expose who, nigga? I’m hood as a gold tooth
Hold two joints in the whip when I roll through the toll booth
I heard the albums niggas just put out, yeah, those cute
But I’m the best, TT3, B.O.P, those proof
The Butcher, nigga

[Conway the Machine:]
Jordan pack 5s, gun metal something special
Used to serve yay, wordplay on Big Pun level
Smoke come out the barrel when the gun settled (Brrrrrrrr)
Most you gangstas in Arizona play the field like the Sun devil
I put some diamonds in hund basal, it’s dumb yellow
I got a shooter in the New York, I call him Young Melo
I got some rope in the trunk, tape and one shovel
Long money, talking billions nigga, and I want several (Talk to ’em)
Ain’t worried ’bout them niggas, all them niggas puss’
Niggas dick-riding rappers real hard to get a look (They pussy)
I used to hustle on Doat St, the carbon in the bush
Bagging up at this fiend house, she shooting doggie in her foot, agh
I bought some water, watch how salty niggas look
Sneak dissing, same niggas used to call me for a hook, right?
I thought these niggas crooks, why all these niggas shook?
Griselda, we took shit over like how long it really took? (Uh-huh)
Look, my city is the wildest, I know niggas up in islands
Spin the yard, pull up bar, big as Iguodala (Yeah)
And lately I’ve been getting bigger dollars, talking digits with the commas
If it’s smoke, we spinning, bitch I promise
Look, ducking and hiding only get you bigger problems
‘Cause if it take too long to find you then we visiting your momma, nigga (Hahahaha)
Yeah, I know them killers up in Dallas
Street nigga for real, boy my trigger finger callused
I see them pictures, them niggas needed stylists
People riding my dick, leaving opinions in my comments, nigga (Them niggas pussy though)
I get my chef, any career I step on
The fuck I look like putting a dress on?

You fucking crazy, nigga?
Machine, bitch
Out your fucking mind, nigga

Hell on Earth, Pt. 2 Lyrics

Hitler Wears Hermes 8: Side B (2021)
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