Brossface Brippler - Westside Gunn, Busta Rhymes, Benny the Butcher

It doesn’t stop for him

Walks on (Grr, ayo)

'Cause he don’t want you to know that you can walk on the water

Well, I’ma tell you right now

Grr

Ayo, rocking Calabasas out in Calabasas

Tuck the MAC in, Off-White fatigue with the army patches

Allah save 'em, suede sweatsuit, Palm Angels

Star spangled, Draco blew his head off from all angles

Alchemist cool, hoodies bool, sipping Veuve

My lil nigga dropped out the first day of school

Dropped tears when I wrote my celly, Louis slides

Doctor Romanelli hold the Desi, switch the bust to the gold Presi'

Who that nigga usually shoulder laying on?

Ten thousand dollar sofas, plug loafers made of cobra

Handle rock like Villanova, gave him cold shoulders

But the neck colder for them TEC toter, get the Lex chauffeur, yo (skr)

I dare one of y’all to step on the Wave runners

Plain summer, hit the West Coast, his brains in the luggage

Make you suffer but you love it (ah)

Make you suffer but you love it (boom boom boom boom boom boom)

Wayne bucking, chain tucking 'fore it’s took

You want a yard but you shook, my nigga went to trial and got cooked

He should’ve looked both ways, I got rich off of cocaine

Yours never came back, what a shame

Yo, ay, look, my dog’ll slit your throat for a brick of coke

He walked in the credit union, then he slipped a note

A new Ferrari, ticket price, that’s what my kitchen grossed

Illegal business, my scale off balance, and my blender broke

Griselda on another run, and that’s major facts

And y’all put guns in hands of niggas you know ain’t gon' clap

I got the .38 on strap wearing Raiders black

We switch pistols, did missions, then we traded back

Born in the era, in the '80s when the smokers

Hit the corner and they cop with a baby in the stroller

Saw my family on drugs, that’s what made me whip the soda

If I don’t answer for the plug, that’s gon' make him miss his quota

Uh huh, it’s crazy, we came up from doing all this evil

Sold dope with so much cut that it clogged they needles

And being real, for this long, gon' be hard to equal

This for the hustlers who got on and fed all they peoples

My niggas stand up, my Glock shoot straight

Crime do pay, these Nike boxes not for shoe space

Y’all got due dates, for one charge, did time in two states

I put pictures of my kids up applying toothpaste, uh

This gon' be a real heartbreaker, and I stand by it

Can flying, blowing at your head like a hair dryer

Eastside nigga, my whole hood full of Scarfaces

Guns in guitar cases, blood on a long apron

I cut coke like I’m chopping beats, they call me Mr. Walt, bae

Master, the chef, I’m cooking coke, they call me Salt Bae

Bitches’ll bag my crack while I fuck 'em in a short stay

Niggas’ll brag 'bout flipping coke while I somersault the yay

«Your coke good but you’se a worker» is what you’re 'posed to say

At a hookah lounge with a waitress serving coke, now sniff it off the tray

While I celebrate a birth this evening, pop the bottle cork and spray

Pipe your bitch 'til she sleeping, so my bread, you’ll be forced to pay

Cocked, now I’m letting off the K, developer, molding and shaping the predator

Better off the prey, despite how kneeling, they often pray

It’s like I’m still bagging crack with Fredrico

Blade accidentally split your finger, blood mixed up all in the perico

Bendito, sorry for all of you niggas that became victims

While we count your bread over mojitos

Fabulous imported fabrics even when I’m in my street clothes

This motherfucker distribute butter like I’m spreading it on wheat toast

So much bread the money bag swell up, we getting it in each loaf

Because he don’t want you to know that you can walk on the water

Well, I’ma tell you right now