paroles de chanson Buffs vs. Wires (feat. Benny & Boldy James) - Boldy James , Westside Gunn , Benny

Ayo, Mag Dior on the prayer rug, 20 chains on, we on Rodeo, blood
Who touchin' my stove, he had to spray him up
Visions ain't reciprocated, he hit the stem hard once
Then he walked up the block with a refrigerator
I'm in the Rolls
Knots on the Martine Rose when I pose
Readymade caskets, this work so good, get the elastic
Hid the AK behind the masjid
Who made the sun shine
(Who made the sun shine, you know what I'm sayin')
Next thing you know, we dip from one time

Real street nigga shit, yo, uh

Track and field, runnin' packs, I'm still subtractin' real numbers
I took a loss and just had to build from it, y'all broke the code
Threw dirt on gang when y'all spoke to Hov, that was reckless
That's expected, VS cuts on my wrist big enough to catch infections
This Heckler on me protect the homies, Boldy and Westside
Treated my 40 just like my only connect
Who said it was simple, them prisons strengthened my mental
I broke the lead on the paper from writin' letters in pencil
This a process, I'm fresh, I just moved out the projects
Million dollar deals and still feel like I ain't hot yet
Biggie Smalls in a Coogi, Al Green in a mock neck
Russel Simmons my mindset, I'm old Hov with a Pyrex
What's the money worth when my mother hurt, brother layin' under dirt
We can forgive you, but you get punished first
Dope on a paper plate, thinkin', why let the paper wait
I ran around the world for it just like The Amazing Race
The money counter singin' to me, sound like amazing grace
Cooked a brick of big at a time, I was eight for eight
The butcher, nigga

Last three packs in the bundle, I had to swallow that (Hold the tops)
Balls of smack pumpin' while I'm crumblin' the loudest thrax (Good kush)
Cone racks, turned the plug around at the Mountain Jack's (Still more)
Niggas who thought I was finished
Hate to see me bouncin' back (It's on)
Touched a honeybun
Tryna trap me up a thousand stacks (A big, big dog)
Shout out to Butch and Gunn, my shooter don't know how to rap
Never filed a tax, had to run with that powder pack (Hyena)
Thumbs still numb from packin' up, foldin' lotto packs (Up in plastic)
I grew up on a block with scurvy niggas, topsy-turvy (all hitters)
Totin' Glocks with .30 in 'em, sellin' rocks and .30 (Boxes)
Oxycontin, Percocet, I was poppin' yerkies
Blowin' on the way to see my PO, I was droppin' dirties (Remix)
Re-rockin' birdies in the trap, half block of turkey (White meat)
The work come in a silver pack like a chocolate Hershey (What else)
Need the pill scripts and them bows, in total poppin' dirt (Moonrock)
Real nigga, still posted on the service drive with purses
Where we at