Letra de ' Flyy (feat. Keisha Plum) ' de Westside Gunn

Ayo
Yo, where the fuck the clock at, yo?

Ayo, they asked if the work swimmin', Lord, forgive 'em
Micheal Phelps in the pot, it's reeking up in Connie's kitchen
Nigga put a pinky in the raw brick, 20 for a half, no shake
He looked at me and said delicious nigga
Had to learn a little Spanish, you dropped your work and then it vanished, put my models on a plate, not time for table manners
Revolving doors at the penitentiary, dispensaries calling my name
Raw paper stuffed with headband
I'm the flyest nigga ever on the mic, you disagree and you're dead man
Christian Dior is in the morgue, had 2 fingers up in Coco Chanel, New York strip medium well, I left his brains on a Gigi Plate
You fucking with me no way I'm fucking genuine like Salt Lay
Ferragamo flight jacket I'm about to take flight, niggas'll tell on their moms they give that bitch life
Niggas'll tell on their moms they give that bitch life

Frank White, King of New York shit
Deep like Queen Afua
Or E Badu
Mixed with Big in 96 on some real fuck a bitch shit
In Plum poetry I trust, sipping Moet sprinkle with rose petal dust
My life is a blatant contradiction, pray you and mistreat you with holistic intentions
Catch that midnight train to Georgia
Call mom dukes tell her you love her
Fly to the heavens in something filthy
Jet black leather, Mason Margiela
Blow a slope, kiss to Griselda
It's like you walked it before I lived it
I'm on my second lifetime
I'm a young Jesus in his prime, out here turning water to wine

Keisha Plum, Westside Gunn
Yeah