Текст песни Super Kick Party - Westside Gunn

Say- say, as soon as we're born, we are dying
Conductor, Conductor, we have a problem (Grr)
Ayo (Grr), ayo

Who that bitch right there with the fatty?
How you in the hood with your jewels and no ratch-y? (Ah)
Anybody say that they ill, I surpass thee
We run the streets and jail, we some athletes
F6 elephant drum out the backseat (Brr)
Actually, make it a headshot, it's that deep (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Pateks over the wheel, hobo bags draggin' through Maxfield
You lack still, the Glock or the MAC wheel? (Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo)
Fur on the Marni slippers, makin' a crack deal
Judge wanna send me up the hill like Jack, Jill (Ah)
To catch your life truly up
We dance with pants, wipe bricks off with Louis scarfs
Mossberg in the old nugget, lookin' like movie stars
My starter lineup got five shooting guards
You fuck niggas is moulinyans (Brr) (Ahahaha)
Pipe down, pikers
Pucci overalls look like scars on a lifer (Ah)
Breakdancin' in the mess hall, put the knives up (Ah)
Where CO Kennedy at? I might wife her
Hold hands on the rec yard, I'll be home soon
Came through, stretch 911 off the showroom (Skrrt)
Soundin' like Chucky up in Sachs, I got dope moves
Wipin' bricks off the same stove we cook soul food (Woo)
Rockin' all Maison, gracious, beloved by the freebasers basin' (Ah)
You back in the hood, how your name in them statements? (Ah)
Dippidy-doo-dah, your brains on the pavement (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Nine in the shoebox, the Ronnie Fieg Asics (Woo)
Bitches sendin' tongue emojis, wanna taste it (Woo)
My double R got Tom Ford drapes (Woo)
Your man used to rock figaro chain and Movado (Uh-huh)
Now it's Hublots, suntans from Cabo
Focus on new goals, squares in the Tahoe
We make it these three thousand miles, we be Ralo
Redbone bitch pussy fat, look like Latto (Ah, woo)
Scores in a McQueen button-up, I look like Pablo (Ah)
West lane, Mike Amiri, thirty-four Flackos
I don't know who did the shit so I shot both (Boom, boom, boom)

(Conductor, we have a problem)
(Damn, Conductor, where'd you find this?)
That's the old Grindin' beat (ay, ay)
Ay, ay
My boy, Jackson, relaxin', know he 'bout that action
Baby girl relaxin' know she 'bout that passion
Young thug on the flipper, man, I'm Z Pound
But we eat good we always see ground
Mayfield, Filiano, Luciano
Hey, flip, do it now, Juliana
Ay, bitch, let me in cross it
Let me lick on the motherfuckin' ounc-ey (yeah)