Ishkabibble's - Westside Gunn, Black Thought

Half and half durags, sippin' the quarter water

Quarter in my socks, lord, and we rocked

We hopped up out the Porsche and torture (Skrrt)

Hermès sport rocker, fiends actin' like it’s a soap opera

«West, I’ma die, I need four dollars», no problem

Bring back six, and two more niggas

Dior dealers, stashed about half in the floor in it (Ah)

Ain’t no business like raw business, S6 all tinted

Wipe down my guns, make sure it’s authentic

Aw shit, head spinnin', lead noodles

Monogram collar on the red poodle, Feds will do you filthy

Have you comin' home seventy, some shit’ll ever be (Ah)

Bentley on Beverly (Skrrt), Palm Angel MAC that shoot heavenly (Brr, brr, brr)

Drop kick the brick and hit the Pedigree (Hit the Pedigree, ah)

Ayo, bodies on the nine, Murakami with the rhyme (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)

My shooter rockin' red Muslim garms 'cause he Slime (Ah)

Find another vein, he’ll be fine, we divine (Ah)

Skeleton wrist, what a time, what a time (Ah)

My nigga got caught with dog food, got a dime (Got a dime)

Didn’t drop a dime on the surf, I’ma shine (I'ma shine)

We mobbin' on the yard, one was nine, where was Shine?

(Where was Shine?)

I’m Sly Green in his prime (Ah)

Ayo, King Musa, key to what, the Mali gold

Hire y’all to hold and keep cleaner than the soul

Mean and never highly questionable like Romany Jones

The silent plot, the angel investor nobody knows

His clothes smellin' like and Somali rose

Them fiends histamines keep 'em with a snotty nose (Damn)

What a waste like the place where that shotty goes

They’ll prolly doze in the corner, tell 'em «Adios»

Heron could cop a fake rhyme, but he pushin' neon

This coke’ll knock the face off the Spinks like Neon

He just an unassumin' normal human, never beyond

What seem to be his means, he ain’t tryna do it eon

I see him when he park up, he rarely ever talk up

The elevator broke, he in a four-story walk up

West Indian Archie memory, he ain’t even spark up

He pull the plug on every enemy that try to mark up

The price point, homie on his kingpin for life joint

Big Darby, private island, just him and his wife joint

Word, he only visit via charter, still beg, borrow, and barter

Son, we gotta move smarter like a Carter

And stand in purple rain like Prince in Apollonia

Playin' like Chillean seabass in Patagonia

It’s only a few that see past the average homie

Or the reason for the sneezin', be glad we got pneumonia, kid

On some cleaner than the ammonia shit