"Party wit Pop Smoke" Lyrics

Westside Gunn Lyrics


"Party wit Pop Smoke"
feat. Keisha Plum

[Westside Gunn:]
Ayo, you couldn’t keep score, Patek Phillipe wars (Ah), my niggas stare at Rugers
Gucci bit off Iceberg shit, I still copped the Mickey
Pissy elevators, hand in hand, I wore Issey, Lord, forgive me
Fashion Week, I gave ’em headstarts to Mississippi (Brr, brr, brr)
Submachine guns, somebody fucked him, brains hangin’ off the frame
Blood on the Salvatore Mundi, we rock cocaine (Ah)
Tie-dye Dior floss, stickin’ niggas up at Christie’s
Eugene Delacroixs for half price, leather strings and Rickys
Ain’t no eye for eye, you take an eye, we take your whole head (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Shoppin’ sprees at galleries, Lafayette, Camila [?]
Baggin’ at the Mandarin, the K, TEC, the drip, Balenciaga mannequin
Pots dancin’ with the grams of fish, whip game scandalous (Ah)

[Keisha Plum:]
My heart got a thousand shadows on it
His brain had a lead hollow in it
Bloodbaths under the moonlight
Spill his guts when the time is right
Valentino for his favorite whore
Homicidal couture
Vintage Mizrahi in the streets of Paris
Violence lingers inside me
Extortion fills my bon appetit
Hog tie him, make him watch a nigga nut in his wife
He started to cry
I kissed his cheek, then drove the icepick in his eye
And one call will have a girl scout on your granddaddy’s porch
Cause of death is heart attack on the coroner’s report
If he got a felony, it’s guaranteed to excite me
Gun and drug charges give me butterflies
Evil as Satan, but I see God all in his eyes

[Westside Pootie:]
Ayo, it’s Westside Pootie
And my Lamborghini got a backseat, and y’all drive rental
In other words, get your weight up
Y’all still broke
Oh yeah, and stop copyin’ off my daddy, too
It’s Griselda
Griselda

Album "Pray for Paris" (2020)
 

 
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