Westside Gunn - Westheimer lyrics

[Chorus: Stove God Cooks] Back seat of the Rolls Royce Screamin' "Money ain't a thing" in my whole voice I had to get rich, they left me no choice It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist I had to kill 'em, ni**as left me no choice We count money in the back seat of the Rolls Royce Screamin' "Money ain't a thing" [Verse 1: Stove God Cooks] Half zip (Go), to a half brick (Go), 'til they can't fit Pan whippin', she like, "You got powder on your Stan Smith's" (Haha) I'm like, "b*tch, these Alexandеrs", my lawyer told me I ain't have to answеr It don't even matter, I went in there lyin' Spinnin', I went Barry Sanders (I went Barry Sanders) Play with them answers They said the got me on the cameras That's why to this day, I don't fu*k with cameras (Ha) Boy, you better thank your God that that sh*t jammed up (You better be thankin' God, ni**a) Cuban under the Canada Goose Drop ceiling in the basement, four hundred bands in the roof (Ask my mama) Ha, they paint pictures in my likeness now I'll have Lil Boosie out the two seater come wipe you down (Brr, pow, pow, pow, pow) My section full of diamond chains and Ace bottles (It is) Thick legs, small waist models, I had tunnel vision Ye goggles He got some shooters that don't play 'bout him (Hahaha, Stove) [Chorus: Stove God Cooks & Boldy James] Back seat of the Rolls Royce (Haha, me and Stove like Ace and Meechy) Screamin' "Money ain't a thing" in my whole voice (Shoutout to Westside Gunn) I had to get rich, they left me no choice (AKA Rolls Royce Richie) It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist (Ha, where we at?) It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist (Mafia, what else?) I had to kill 'em, ni**as left me no choice (Brr) We count money in the back seat of the Rolls Royce Screamin' "Money ain't a thing" (It's on, frr, beep) [Verse 2: Boldy James] Twenties cloggin' up the machine, hall closet full of Supreme Off-White and Amiri jeans at the Albright (Up in the A) Hands crampin' up from me countin', thumbin' all night (Where we at?) Money's bustin' out of the seams of my Ksubi denim (Blockworks) Came through and we fried the scene, ni**as knew we hit 'em (Brr) Who we kiddin'? Chapo hit my line like, "Who gave you permission?" (I'm clear) We weigh the work wet to get them extra grams, number crunchin' (Ayy) Showed up to the function and my roof was missing (Drop ceilings) Box stick in the Range, thots trickin' for change (Thotiana) For this new sh*t, I got my fiend hop, skip in the rain Front tooth missin', look like Bobby from New Edition (Gap tooth) Sold her some dope so oily, when you boil it Could probably Jiffy Lube an engine (Uh), I'm watchin' Scarface in my living room Two bad b*tches in my jacuzzi kissin' (Mwah) No instruction manual needed, point me to the kitchen (Skrrt) This is dog food for thought, you ni**as do the dishes (Let's get it) [Chorus: Stove God Cooks & Sauce Walka] Back seat of the Rolls Royce Screamin' "Money ain't a thing" in my whole voice I had to get rich, they left me no choice It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist (I pimp those) I had to kill 'em, ni**as left me no choice (I did) We count money in the back seat of the Rolls Royce (Mmm-hmm) Screamin' "Money ain't a thing" (Ooh-wee, ooh-wee) [Verse 3: Sauce Walka] I own a Rolls Royce in real life Blank and pink painting like Serena Williams in pink tights Did the b*tch pay me the money? You shouldn't think twice Do Lebron James drink sprites? Do Meek Mill shoot dice? And did Dave Mirra ride bikes? I'm really him They said that Trix was just for kids, well, silly them These ni**as think they Biggie Smalls, but they really Kim I'm in the gym above the rim, lethal shooter When JAY-Z dropped Ghetto Gospel, I was chillin' at the jeweler Thank you, ho, I could've signed to JAY-Z and been Roc-a-Fella But I had four b*tches clockin' millions from steady rockin' fellas For lots of cheddar, all types of cheese, swiss, mozzarella sh*t, I done had so much pepper jack, I should've owned the deli Had the sweet sales in the pen, punched down my celly On the west side with a gun, pimped out the hotelly The red roof on Westheimer, that's dead proof Set trippin' didn't last you, these Texas diamonds on every tooth On Sauce (Ooh-wee)