Hell on Earth, Pt. 2 Lyrics – Westside Gunn
Singer: Westside Gunn
Title: Hell on Earth, Pt. 2
FLYGOD
Ayo
Left the kitchen drenched, so much remixin’, we vicious
Out in Oakland in the Rolls (Skrrt), might’ve been one of Felix’s
Stuck with a dealer’s mentality
Bricks on top of squares on the bed, we worth a God figure salary
Got the dope stench stuck in the walls, Dior goggles (Ah)
When I bag the dope, I’m reekin’ of Creed
The gold bottle, drinkin’ gold bottles, gun on my hip
I’m not a role model, bullets in the air, I’ll make your soul follow (Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom)
I win the lotto in Tulum, caught him in the shower
Beat him with a mop and broom (Ah), his chopper’s in the locker room (Doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot)
We doing operations, n#gg#s left the zippers (Ah)
I’m in the X7, whole neck glitter (Skrrt)
A cold world make the TEC shiver (Doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot), don’t contest that (Ah)
I be at where you rest at
So many chains on, b#tches askin’ where my neck at (Where your neck at, n#gg#?)
The band on the Patek black, my n#gg# blew the trial
Heard he got max in the supermax, word is I’m diesel like Luger
Turned one to three and yelled “Hallelujah”
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
We’re going to see the king, ah, ah, ah
It’s crazy that I’m still talkin’ yola, made a brick do yoga
I know ’bout hard white and them ex-con flights to Oklahoma
A pale heart, I’m Dale Earnhardt with a smokin’ motor
Black Sopranos, I took the oath full of Cosa Nostra
Did it my way, I got the most of these culture vultures
You gotta pay me what you owe, or nope, I won’t consult ya
I did more numbers with half your budget, I hope it woke ya
I put a brick on my block and a yacht in the open ocean
A felon, I’ve been convicted, irrelevant what I’m spendin’
But what matter is I’m doin’ better than what’s predicted, mmm
Should’ve got a Grammy nod, but f#ck it though ’cause Royce and Freddie family ties
Frank Lucas video, the Miami vibe
This life crazy, every minute someone recordin’ you
They ask me if I feel famous now, n#gg#, of course I do
Corporate moves, my office and my business resources grew
Took the long road, you n#gg#s lookin’ for shortcuts through
Expose who, n#gg#? I’m hood as a gold tooth
Hold two joints in the whip when I roll through the toll booth
I heard the albums n#gg#s just put out, yeah, those cute
But I’m the best, TT3, B.O.P, those proof
The Butcher, n#gg#
Look
Jordan pack 5s, gun metal somethin’ special
Used to serve yay, wordplay on Big Pun level (Woo)
Smoke come out the barrel when the gun settled (Brr)
Know some gangstas in Arizona playin’ the field like the Sun devil (Ha)
I put some diamonds in hon’ bezel, it’s dumb yellow (Uh-huh)
I got a shooter in the New York, I call him Young Melo (Hahahaha)
I got some rope in the trunk, tape and one shovel
Long money, talkin’ billions, n#gg#, and I want several (Talk to ’em)
Ain’t worried ’bout them n#gg#s, all them n#gg#s puss’
n#gg#s dickridin’ rappers real hard to get a look (They p#ss#)
I used to hustle on Doat Street, the carbon in the bush
Baggin’ up at this fiend house, she shootin’ doggie in her foot, ah
I bought some water, watch how salty n#gg#s look
Sneak dissin’, same n#gg#s used to call me for a hook, right? (Ha)
I thought these n#gg#s crooks, why all these n#gg#s shook?
Griselda, we took sh#t over like how long it really took? (Uh-huh)
Look, my city is the wildest (Ha), I know n#gg#s up in islands (Wo)
Spin the yard, pull up bar, big as Iguodala (Yeah)
And lately I’ve been gettin’ bigger dollars, talkin’ digits with the commas (Talk)
If it’s smoke, we spinnin’, b#tch, I promise (Brr)
Look, duckin’ and hidin’ only get you bigger problems
‘Cause if it take too long to find you, then we visitin’ your mama, n#gg# (Hahahaha)
Yeah, I know them killers up in Dallas
Street n#gg# for real, boy, my trigger finger callused (Boom boom boom boom boom)
I see them pictures, them n#gg#s need a stylist
People ridin’ my dick, leaving opinions in my comments, n#gg# (Them n#gg#s p#ss# though)
I get my chef on, any career I step on
The f#ck I look like puttin’ a dress on?
Is you f#cking crazy, n#gg#?
Machine, b#tch
Out your f#cking mind, n#gg#
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Lyrics Westside Gunn – Hell on Earth, Pt. 2
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