Letra de ' City, Sos & Me ' de Westside Gunn

So there's no use in asking
Your point of view
So there's no use in asking
Your point of view

Ayo, the drophead cherry red
Red bottoms, MAC elev', we'll clap your head
Medusa head locs, loft kitchen reek of coke
Cocaine Carreras, parlayin', me and Sos
Bricks for what? Get ten of 'em
Give Killa Tone the Bushmaster, he'll flip somethin'
Big chains on, I'm lookin' rich
Bust the duct tape, it smelled like piss
KTZ sweatsuit down to the kicks
Stepped on the dope twice
All black oyster, P roll with the pink ice
Mink white, fifty shots before he could blink twice
Got his brains leanin' to the side like some cheap Nikes
Easy come, easy go; whack him for his Yeezy 1s
Eazy-E Raider snapback that match the joints
Lookin' like Schroeder, kid, hold up
Mix the cryonite with the China white, bet my niggas blow up

Rolls Royce rolled up
That nigga did twenty flat, nigga - so what?
We them new niggas, hangin' out the roof, the truth
Mix the Pérignon with the grapefruit

Moschino gloves on the hammer
Shot his man up at Barney's, choppin' grams up
World premiere, hang that nigga from the Lear
Rocks clear, choppers swingin' from the chandelier
The flyest nigga on this mic, sh—I swear
When I got my first brick, I dropped tears
12-12 A resumes with cooked flake
I was fucked up, I got back off a big gate
Adolf Versace plates
Malcolm X Prada frames analyze the snakes
Human Made joggers, 'cause they sweatin' me
Escada apron on, flexin' the recipe
All this gold on might be the death of me
This six-kilo Cuban link especially
Coke on my sweatshirt like Heavy D
Chanel mask on, baggin' heavy D

Rolls Royce rolled up
That nigga did twenty flat, nigga - so what?
We them new niggas, hangin' out the roof, the truth
Mix the Pérignon with the grapefruit

What do you say, gentlemen?
Good evening, lieutenant
So, what do you got for me?
John Doe, between 25-30 years of age
Cause of death looks like OG
Over gold, yeah? Any signs of foul play, Ronnie?
No, sir. Looks like a case of just too many gold chains