Letra Ray mysterio Westside Gunn

Ray mysterio

Ayy yo (Brrr)
Ayy yo, ayy yo, ayy yo, ayy yo (Ayy yo, ayy yo)
(Brrr)
Luxurious fly shit (Brrr)
Ayy yo (Ayy yo)

Turn Judas for them Yeezy Season 3s
The pump's in the sleeves, don't make a nigga reach
Coke look bleach, pots and forks by the sink
Busted duct tape, that shit stink (Shit stink, nigga)
Same night off for a week
Off-White collab, the MAC hangin' out the Lambo Jeep (Brrr)
If you slip, I better catch yo' ass
Gave you 32 real fast (Real fast)
My nigga this Hall and Nash
The imperial
Everything we shoot got no serials
This fly shit through your stereos
Coke flip like Ray Mysterio (Now Listen)
You fuck niggas don't hear me though
This that Fashion Avenue flow
Get it like Tuna in Blow, and then we blow

(They can't do nothin' but respect us) (Ow! Ow! Ow!)
(Man listen, we got EmpresSil)
Tie it to the blood clot (Betta watch yo' head)

Look, name a rapper that's half as ill that can match the skill that's half as real
Niggas be sayin "Con you have to chill"
'Cause I be spazzin' still, I swear these sucka niggas weird
Rap is good, but I will clap 'em still and fuck up my career
I ain't worried 'bout a jail, don't give a fuck about them years
Wilin' 'til I get the needle or I fuckin' get the chair
You got a blicky, but you pussy niggas bust it out of fear
My shooter in fatigues, shotty like he huntin' for a deer, yeah (Boom, boom)
Run down on you and fire twice
The bullet wound lookin' like a lion bite
Bullets lookin' like a half a stick of dynamite
I was buyin' guns when you other niggas was buyin' Nikes
Rhymer like Esco when the '90s flow raw as a line of white
I beat your favorite rapper with an iron pipe (Okay)
In the winter, fly to LA, where the climate right
Fuckin' the kinda hoes you'll never fuck in your entire life (Hahaha)
Versace belt just to tuck the ratchet (Uh-huh)
You can smell the piss on them bricks before I bust the plastic (Okay)
Shooters lurkin' for you, they in fuckin' traffic (They lurkin')
They won't rest until they put you in a fuckin' casket, ugh! (Brrr)

You had to really, really do something to get killed
Let's take it right on on
You said good for what?
Bottom line (Bottom line)
Word up
It's a whole different world
The fuck is that?
Fuck you talkin' 'bout?
So you won't be seen on the album
It gon' get loud
Probably ain't got no record player anyway