Westside Gunn – Celine Dion Lyrics

Fuck (Brr)
Ayo (Brr)
Ayo

The Black Rambo, you know the handle (Brr)
Bali’ sandals, the Buffalo Kids and Black Sopranos (Ah)
Got the brick dismantled, the cherry Land Rove’ (Skrrt)
We used to rock Pebble Beach and then we came home (Ah)
Hit the back of his head, now his brains gone (Boom boom boom boom boom)
See me when you wake up, pop the cells, I’m laid up
We went to the Porsche lot, he copped the same one (Skrrt, they know)
If you shine, we both shine, we used the same guns (Boom, boom, boom)

This that 7-1-murder shit
My niggas sell dope and murder shit (Brr)
Hundred thirty to life and he ain’t tell ’em shit (Shh)
Felon shit, we all grew up on that ghetto shit (On that ghetto shit)
Robbin’ niggas for fun and now my bezel lit
We ghetto rich, bang the forty ’til the metal stick (Fah, fah, fah)
My nigga pray to the devil, he on some rebel shit
Tat his face, never blink when the ratchet shake (Never did)
Have a fiend do him dirty for a half a eight
Turn his face, got a lawyer that’ll burn the case
Get a extra headshot, that’s just for turnin’ state
We suicidal, lost soldiers in the beef with rivals
Told my mama that I love her, loadin’ up my rifle
We the idol (Motherfucker), you’ll die today, I tell ’em snipe you (Brr)
Who the youngest OG? I’ma take that title (That’s me, nigga)
Jordan, Michael, six ring when the pound strikin’ (Fah, fah, fah, fah, fah)
Let the first one scream, he thought he saw lightning
Frr, they know, yeah

Y’all know me
Big BSF, nigga
Gunn, good lookin’, nigga
Same nigga, look

I turn fifty into eighty if you whip it good (That’s a fact)
Chop it up, then I’m in your hood (I’m in your hood)
Like the engineers, I serve your bitch while she with the kids (Haha)
I’m into flips like a gymnast is (Like)
You ain’t Mr. Big (Nah), you ain’t never bust a head over price (Pussy nigga)
You ain’t never stuffed dope in a bowl of rice (Stop lyin’)
You got knocked and started singin’ like Hova’s wife (Pussy)
This street shit is like a roll of dice, nigga
And I’m here for the head crack (Uh huh)
Over a little cheese, get your head tapped, nigga (Brr), I can’t stand rats (Nah)
And these shells is like pesticides on ’em (Bah bah bah), I’m pushin’ weight tryna exercise on ’em
These bitches think you a chicken box (Why)
‘Cause they got some breast and thighs on ’em (Fuck outta here)
I just ran out of work, who got some extra pies on ’em? (Who got some work?)
And that’s a real question, you niggas still bluffin’ (Uh huh)
So I got them pills jumpin’ (Wait), cleats on, I’m field runnin’
You ain’t ever killed nothin’, go on drills, nothin’, nigga
I up the steel, I’m like Phil Drummond (Brr)

I wanna bring out the guy that was the challenger in that particular instance we are talking about

FLYGOD
Who did indeed make a valiant effort to take the title away from Nick Bockwinkel, but
First of all let say I’m glad to see your back especially after seeing your front
Hahahaha
Let me ask you one other thing
Did you hear that the court just made a ruling that their gonna have to make the Lone Ranger take his mask off
They ever see you the are gonna make a ruling where you’re gonna have to wear a mask
Do you realize that?
Yeah it’s a rare form day I hear it, okay
That’s right baby when I beat the world heavyweight champion
I am in rare form and I guess you saw it right there didn’t yah
Yeah I saw what could be interpreted I’m certainly by you as a win over the champion, he still, he still rung the bell
Could be interpreted? he still rung the bell
It was a one two three
That’s right took me a couple of minutes longer than I anticipated
What, what can you expect I was fighting two world champions that night

Ayo, I’m rockin’ skates, eatin’ thousand dollar plates (Ah)
Sold dope for fifteen years straight, I need a break
More money on the way (More money on the way)
More money on the way
Ayo, I’m rockin’ skates, eatin’ thousand dollar plates (Ah)
Sold dope for fifteen years straight, I need a break
More money on the way (More money on the way)
More money on the way (Lord, Lord)

From the change jar, hoppin’ out that foreign, slide to Saks and Fifth (Skrrt)
Skippin’ out that bitch with twenty racks of shit (Yeah)
Uh, Off-Whites on, Dior gone
Swam [?] on hip, keep belovey feelin’ strong (Brr, brr, brr)
Prayin’ for my sins, chop it up with FLYGOD (Chop it up with FLYGOD)
Ms is rollin’ in, I ain’t gotta sell hard (I ain’t’ gotta sell hard)
Exes lookin’ sick, but I’m spinnin’ in the Tesla (Skrrt)
The thirty-eight is mean, but got that thirty on the heckler (Brr)
You can catch me up in Neiman’s, I be gettin’ some help (Gettin’ some help)
When I seen you in that bitch, you was coppin’ a belt (Fuck outta here)
You wasn’t on my side when the vision was felt (Fuck outta here)
Belovey, boy, you up some water so them pigeons can melt (Whip, whip)
Sold ‘caine for nine years, we don’t play around here (Nope)
Tried to run off with that [?], now he stay around chairs (Get that nigga)
Got a crowd, but these motherfuckers yellin’ out dimes (Dimes)
A hundred grams, but I only sell seven at a time

Ayo, I’m rockin’ skates, eatin’ thousand dollar plates
Sold dope for fifteen years straight, I need a break
More money on the way (More money on the way)
More money on the way
Ayo, I’m rockin’ skates, eatin’ thousand dollar plates
Sold dope for fifteen years straight, I need a break
More money on the way (More money on the way)
More money on the way