BOTTOM BUNK LEGENDS Lyrics by Westside Gunn
Roll me up
But you’re coming, n****a
Yo
Louis V dog tag, desert storm camouflage
Phone like a joystick, I work the Benz analog
No hating, that’s a fact, but I’m just not a fan of y’alls
Cuz that ain’t how y’all n****as act when the camera’s off
Get a brick of fish then I pick a fence in a dog
The plug will ship the bricks even if we going to swim across
The way you lack structure, I know you ain’t been a boss
These n****as local jokers, you fucks never been abroad
Y’all get broke opinions on n****as that’s living large
Just say your two cents and one day you can spin it off
Few real n****as left and they still trying to kill us off
I play the hand I’m dealt while I peek at the dealer’s cards
Crib got a tennis court, y’all green as a tennis ball
I still make these hoes feel the heat like it’s menopause
I put so much snow in the streets I took winters off
I put a blue tip through your teeth like it’s dental floss
Toss rocks from a glass house, hope you didn’t miss
Y’all break the first rule when y’all eat when y’all shit and piss
My first love for getting on beats was hitting licks
I left cribs like a wrecking ball hitting with missing bricks
Hey yo, I’m British Bulldog in the drop top Saab
You wouldn’t make it long, my shooter got one job
Got 10 cars with an eight car garage
I don’t fuck with you broke n****as, I’m a snob
Doing caviar pasta, three prawns from Senegal
Want ask how long I’ve been flying, bitch, I’ve been in the (??)
Since I jumped off the porch it was 10 of them off
Plus all my baby mothers get along, bitches think I’m Beulah, Beulah the ruler
We ain’t never heard of you jeweler, you pooputt
When it come to painting I’m vicious
All these old n****as, MJ for the Wizards
Residue stains on the Ginori dishes
I took a road trip out to Poppy Ranch, rock a Mori lessons
50 stories up, bitches getting nosebleeds
Chrome Heart jean suit, we praying both sleeves
Mac 11s all squeezed
LV Timberlands, blood on the trees
Jeez
