Heem - Celine Dion lyrics

[Part One] [Intro: Westside Gunn] fu*k (Brr) Ayo (Brr) Ayo [Verse 1: Westside Gunn & Heem] The Black Rambo, you know the handle (Brr) Bali' sandals, the Buffalo Kids and Black Sopranos (Ah) Got the brick dismantled, the cherry Land Rove' (Skrrt) We used to rock Pebble Beach and then we came home (Ah) Hit the back of his head, now his brains gone (Boom boom boom boom boom) See me when you wake up, pop the cells, I'm laid up We went to the Porsche lot, he copped the same one (Skrrt,they know) If you shine, we both shine, we used the samе guns (Boom, boom, boom) [Verse 2: Heem] This that 7-1-murder sh*t My ni**as sell dope and murdеr sh*t (Brr) Hundred thirty to life and he ain't tell 'em sh*t (Shh) Felon sh*t, we all grew up on that ghetto sh*t (On that ghetto sh*t) Robbin' ni**as for fun and now my bezel lit We ghetto rich, bang the forty 'til the metal stick (Fah, fah, fah) My ni**a pray to the devil, he on some rebel sh*t Tat his face, never blink when the ratchet shake (Never did) Have a fiend do him dirty for a half a eight Turn his face, got a lawyer that'll burn the case Get a extra headshot, that's just for turnin' state We suicidal, lost soldiers in the beef with rivals Told my mama that I love her, loadin' up my rifle We the idol (Motherfu*ker), you'll die today, I tell 'em snipe you (Brr) Who the youngest OG? I'ma take that title (That's me, ni**a) Jordan, Michael, six ring when the pound strikin' (Fah, fah, fah, fah, fah) Let the first one scream, he thought he saw lightning Frr, they know, yeah [Interlude: Heem & Chase Fetti] Y'all know me Big BSF, ni**a Gunn, good lookin', ni**a Same ni**a, look [Verse 3: Chase Fetti] I turn fifty into eighty if you whip it good (That's a fact) Chop it up, then I'm in your hood (I'm in your hood) Like the engineers, I serve your b*tch while she with the kids (Haha) I'm into flips like a gymnast is (Like) You ain't Mr. Big (Nah), you ain't never bust a head over price (Pussy ni**a) You ain't never stuffed dope in a bowl of rice (Stop lyin') You got knocked and started singin' like Hova's wife (Pussy) This street sh*t is like a roll of dice, ni**a And I'm here for the head crack (Uh huh) Over a little cheese, get your head tapped, ni**a (Brr), I can't stand rats (Nah) And these shells is like pesticides on 'em (Bah bah bah), I'm pushin' weight tryna exercise on 'em These b*tches think you a chicken box (Why) 'Cause they got some breast and thighs on 'em (fu*k outta here) I just ran out of work, who got some extra pies on 'em? (Who got some work?) And that's a real question, you ni**as still bluffin' (Uh huh) So I got them pills jumpin' (Wait), cleats on, I'm field runnin' You ain't ever killed nothin', go on drills, nothin', ni**a I up the steel, I'm like Phil Drummond (Brr) [Outro] [Part Two] [Intro] FLYGOD [Chorus: Westside Gunn & Flee Lord] Ayo, I'm rockin' skates, eatin' thousand dollar plates (Ah) Sold dope for fifteen years straight, I need a break More money on the way (More money on the way) More money on the way Ayo, I'm rockin' skates, eatin' thousand dollar plates (Ah) Sold dope for fifteen years straight, I need a break More money on the way (More money on the way) More money on the way (Lord, Lord) [Verse: Flee Lord] From the change jar, hoppin' out that foreign, slide to Saks and Fifth (Skrrt) Skippin' out that b*tch with twenty racks of sh*t (Yeah) Uh, Off-Whites on, Dior gone Swam [?] on hip, keep belovey feelin' strong (Brr, brr, brr) Prayin' for my sins, chop it up with FLYGOD (Chop it up with FLYGOD) Ms is rollin' in, I ain't gotta sell hard (I ain't' gotta sell hard) Exes lookin' sick, but I'm spinnin' in the Tesla (Skrrt) The thirty-eight is mean, but got that thirty on the heckler (Brr) You can catch me up in Neiman's, I be gettin' some help (Gettin' some help) When I seen you in that b*tch, you was coppin' a belt (fu*k outta here) You wasn't on my side when the vision was felt (fu*k outta here) Belovey, boy, you up some water so them pigeons can melt (Whip, whip) Sold 'caine for nine years, we don't play around here (Nope) Tried to run off with that [?], now he stay around chairs (Get that ni**a) Got a crowd, but these motherfu*kers yellin' out dimes (Dimes) A hundred grams, but I only sell seven at a time [Chorus: Westside Gunn & Flee Lord] Ayo, I'm rockin' skates, eatin' thousand dollar plates Sold dope for fifteen years straight, I need a break More money on the way (More money on the way) More money on the way Ayo, I'm rockin' skates, eatin' thousand dollar plates Sold dope for fifteen years straight, I need a break More money on the way (More money on the way) More money on the way