Lord of War (Intro) - Westside Gunn

C’mon, man, nah mean, it’s our year, I’m on some '08 shit, man

This that feel good, right here

Calico M one-ten, a hundred rounds in it

Rose gold jewels on, selling cracks every minute

Big niggas out screaming out, «Two for 15!»

Fish scales on the beam, better dope than Grand Street

Watch them niggas lean, got burned clean, bitch

For 32 on the scene, Machine out the Bim

Flavor moccasins on, 400 for the jeans

My man got shot next to me, heard that shit sting

Retaliate with the wings, Hawks and Desert Eags

Got Woolrich peacoats with pumps in the sleeves

Pull up in yellow Bimmers like we fuckin' Latin Kings

Shootouts in Dewey Park, left the TEC by the swing

Pay fees and throw cocktails, heard your mom scream

Got goons by each door, you fuckers can’t leave

I let the gat sing, MAC ring, I’m doing my thing-thing

40 cal plus dope with no cut brought us more cream

Rock the Polo sweats, TEC staying up by the drawstring

Scuffed my Bathing Apes hopping over gates, nah mean?

Handling six-figure jig, Desert Eagle twins

The kid sprinting from a Mandela bid, vanilla Benz

Gucci lenses, Uzi vicious under Coogi trenches

Sick as Pyrex in kitchens, well-invested riches

Jewelry glisten, listen, product kicks delicious

Christian Diors, Colombian coke bitches

Ten K wrists and Bathing Ape slippers, quarter to eight whippers

Cake clippers, air hole TECs with pin triggers

Fifteen a brick, AR-15's to blow

I swear I seen him flip barefaced to lick shit, invincible

Rose gold down on my dick, you despicable

Fast life the way we choose to live

Gold fronts laced with the ruby bridge

High school I wore Iceberg laced with the Snoopy wig

Cops will chase us, razors with residue on it

We in the majors, tri-color Jacobs

Yo, I’m too laced, Versace got shot in his face

Wait, plate got shake on it, fiends got great on it

Raekwon-ers display warnings, shoot at the head honcho

Salvatore Ferragamo’s lucky if you make it 'til tomorrow

McLarens have 'em staring great

Your shit band was mere vanity appearance

You 12 to 8, I’m not sharing

Ain’t no money like money from heroin, nigga, nigga

It’s fucking Westside gat man (Uh-huh), F.N.I.C.

(You already know)

Nah mean?

We on some '08 shit, man

Westside Gunn story, man

Nah mean?

Guap or die, man, you already fuckin' know, Black Royalty, nah mean?

S. Grill killing the fuckin' tracks man, nah mean?

We fuckin' ahead of our time B, nah mean?

Just, just fuckin' listen man, let that shit ride for a second, man