Party wit Pop Smoke - Westside Gunn, Keisha Plum

My niggas stare at Rugers, Gucci bit off Iceberg shit, I still copped the Mickey

Pissy elevators, hand in hand, I wore Issey, Lord, forgive me

Fashion Week, I gave 'em headstarts to Mississippi (Brr, brr, brr)

Submachine guns, somebody fucked him, brains hangin' off the frame

Blood on the Salvatore Mundi, we rock cocaine (Ah)

Tie-dye Dior floss, stickin' niggas up at Christie’s

Eugene Delacroixs for half price, leather strings and Rickys

Ain’t no eye for eye, you take an eye, we take your whole head (Boom, boom,

boom, boom, boom)

Shoppin' sprees at galleries, Lafayette, come here let’s hold hands

Baggin' at the Mandarin, they can’t take the drip, Balenciaga mannequin

Pots dancin' with the grams of fish, whip game scandalous (Ah)

My heart got a thousand shadows on it

His brain had a lead hollow in it

Bloodbaths under the moonlight

Spill his guts when the time is right

Valentino for his favorite whore, homicidal couture

Vintage Mizrahi in the streets of Paris

Violence lingers inside me

Extortion fills my bon appetit

Hogtie him, make him watch a nigga nut in his wife

He started to cry

I kissed his cheek, then drove the icepick in his eye

And one call will have a girl scout on your granddaddy’s porch

Cause of death is heart attack on the coroner’s report

If he got a felony, it’s guaranteed to excite me

Gun and drug charges give me butterflies

Evil as Satan, but I see God all in his eyes

Ayo, it’s Westside Pootie

And my Lamborghini got a backseat, and y’all drive rentals

In other words, get your weight up

Y’all still broke

Oh yeah, and stop copyin' off my daddy, too

It’s Griselda

Griselda