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Westside GunnWestside Gunn 

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Westside Gunn

Alvin Lamar Worthy (born July 27, 1982), known professionally as Westside Gunn, is an American rapper. He is the brother of fellow rapper Conway (birth name Demond Price), with whom he forms the duo Hall N' Nash, deriving from the names of professional wrestlers Scott Hall and Kevin Nash. Worthy records for his own record label, Griselda Records, which he founded in 2014, as well as The Purist's Daupe! Records. In 2016, he released his debut studio album, FLYGOD, to critical acclaim. On March 3, 2017, Griselda Records signed a deal with Eminem's Shady Records, a subsidiary of Interscope, making Westside Gunn and his brother Conway the first rappers from Buffalo to sign with a major label. more »

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Look, tell them rap niggas we takin' over, had to change the flow up
Now I'm in the Maybach sippin' a Spade mimosa
Take the bid and make the quota with the bakin' soda
Pray to Jehovah, came with the shoulder strap, spray his home up
Wait, hold up, if I said so, spray your Rover
Spray his folk up, niggas good fellas like Ray Liotta (ha, ha, ha)
Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up
Shooter sniff the yay, he need to wake his nose up
I'm from the East side, them niggas over there be wildin' (uh-huh)
And catchin' bodies, throwin' bullets like Aaron Rodgers (talk to 'em)
I'm lookin' at these rap niggas like, "Is there a problem?"
I'm aimin' at the middle of your head like Larry Johnson
Kush in the morning, drink my yak in the day
I'm tired of hearin' old niggas talk 'bout back in the day (f*ck outta here)
I ride around with two things, that's a MAC and a K
Act like I'm playin', I'm pullin' up and I'm-a blast you away
Uh, yeah, I need to see the money pile over (uh-huh)
My shooter comin' off the bench like Kyle Korver
Hide the body for a month it left this foul odor
I'm Kobe Bryant on my team, I'm the fuckin' closer (Machine, nigga)

Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up
(Yeah, this shit real, nigga)
Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up
(The whole house heard that shit, nigga)
Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up (shoot everything, nigga)
(Make sure you hit everything, nigga)
(Empty them clips, homie)
Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up

Yeah, Daringer compared to RZA
I'm compared to niggas that'll stab you in your face 
With a pair of scissors (hold that)
Courtside watchin' the Wizards, Cartiers expensive (uh-huh)
Spray the extended at a man somewhere in the trenches (uh-huh)

Ah, I swing this MAC, I'm clearin' the fences
Enough shooters on my team to embarrassed the Pistons (nigga)
The trap empty, all I had kitchenware and a biscuit (that's it)
I need a pile of dirty cash and somewhere I can rinse it (uh-huh)
This for my niggas in the Fed max who pray daily (I remember that)
My shooter put his mask up and spray eighty
That's Wayne Perry shit, y'all niggas Wayne Bradys (y'all pussy)
Huh, I'm leavin' with your daughter if he can't pay me (what's poppin'?)
These OGs 'round me, real veterans (facts)
My shooters real reckless, it take a lot for me to feel threatened (nigga)
In interviews, they askin' real questions (like what?)
Like, "Is you still hustlin'? Your videos, you usin' real weapons?" (No comment)
If it's time to clip you, we the ones to move
I got the call about it before I seen it on the news (ah)
Light brown interior, the seats peanut butter too
The whole gang be doin' life if we leave it up to you (uh) (you a rat, nigga)
Everybody G 'til they get hit with a hawk (hit with a hawk)
Walk the main line in the L and get hit with a fork (uh-huh)
Had a clientele list that was as big as New York
That's why the door on my bedroom thick as a vault, The Butcher, nigga, ah

Ayo, no bricks in the Off-White RIMOWA
Them shits see-through, we rock it for the culture
Bodies on each poke, keep actin' like you know us
Beautiful nightmares, we runnin' out of soda
Rock so much Dior Homme, Hov thought I was Kim Jones
F*ck it, copped me an island, dip the Benz in gold (skrrt)
Cook another brick, then the kitchen closed (ah)
Ran up in his locker, take that nigga phone (ah)
Catch him in his cell, my axe sprayed him up
He did it for some oil and a prayer rug
Machinegun in the summer, still wearin' gloves
B.o.b., me in the mess hall with all my Bloods
Inshallah, I see a hundred
Get caught with it, I'll be home in three summers (ah)
Get caught without it, might not live to speak about it
My nigga still got forty, he might not leave up out it

Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up
(Yeah, this shit real, nigga)
Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up
(The whole house heard that shit, nigga)
Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up (shoot everything, nigga)
(Make sure you hit everything, nigga)
(Empty them clips, homie)
Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up (yeah)

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