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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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Shay, rest in peace
Ha, ha, ha, ha
Kill, kill, kill, kill
Just Blaze
As we proceed, to give you what you need
It's Griselda bomb, I tried to tell you all

Ayo, you lookin' at my jewels, don't even risk it (don't even risk it, ah)
My mechanic be sniffin' with the wrenches (with the wrenches, sniff)
In the mess hall, I got to listen (I got to listen)
First day home, I got to whippin' (I got to whippin', whip)
My country bitch think she from Memphis (she from Memphis)
She could suck dick in the Olympics (In the Olympics, ah)
Everyday, I wake up, I gotta get it (I gotta get it)
My nigga dome shot shit, he be wiggin' (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, he be wiggin')
How you been FLYGOD? I been livin' (I been livin')
Pollo Loco with the chicken (with the chicken)
Even Nino Brown started snitchin' (started snitchin', ah)
Big four pound with the extension (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, the extension)
Move like Chef Dred in the kitchen (in the kitchen, ah)
You'd rather be dead than go against us (than go against)
My nigga dopeboy, he be whoopin' (he be whoopin')
My nigga TF, he be Crippin' (yo, Crippin')

Boss bitch, yeah, I'm hella bomb (hella bomb)
Money phone ringin' like a telethon (brr)
I came in the game with my weapons drawn (uh huh)
Necks what I'm steppin' on (what's up?), hated, but respected on (come on)
Heavy on the weight (weight), heavy on the cake
Iced out the same chains that Harriet escaped (uh huh)
Word to all the millions and risks that we takes (uh huh)
The Liberace estates (what else?), Dolce Gabbana drapes, what (woo)
I'm a beauty, but a beast on the track (uh huh)
Don't confuse this with my booty, this the East on my back (what)
You upset yet? Diamond chain on that wet wet (uh huh)
You can slide, bitch, I jet set, I'm gettin' pampered like the bed wet (come on)
Niggas hand it to my like the nail tech (uh huh)
Passin' bitches like a test, but this ain't no LSAT, what
Y'all bitches better be scared if I level up (level up)
No, elevators, bitch (look), step it up

Standin' on the furniture, I told the bottle girl, "Bitch, pass the Ace" (bring me that Ace, bitch)
I popped the cork, poured the whole bottle for homies passed away
Grabbed the Wraith, Killa Bee yellow with the matchin' skates
Still got racks in the safe, a half a letter stashed away (ha)
Wrapped a half a cake in saran wrap and some maskin' tape
Wrap the surplus around rappers, I probably lapped them eighty times
Keep the MAC on waist, I don't waste time
Boy, you get the drum work from the Griselda Records basket case (brr)
They say they richer than Machine, that's like a slap in face
The problem is I'm gettin' more money and at a faster pace
Look, I ain't human, I'm an alien, homie
I just came back from space, came to outrap the greats (talk to 'em)
Trust me, I got the bread to get a nigga whacked today
They bring me back your head, don't matter how much cash it take
We used to traffic base, now the trap forty racks a day
It's safe to say we got a boomin' system, I'm Masta Ace (ha)
The shooter sixteen, throttle in his VLONE hoodie
Nigga look at me wrong, then he uppin' this chrome for me (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
I got rich on my own, don't need a nigga to loan money (uh uh)
Ain't signin' no more contracts unless it's Mahomes money (woo)
Machine, bitch

RIP to rappers I buried, left the trap and then married
I won a ring for every team I was on, like Vinatieri
I got the four-door too (uh huh), so many whips, it's gettin' scary (uh huh)
Book a photoshoot, y'all 'bout to need pics for obituaries
The GxF Rebels, any static, nigga, we accept
Y'all niggas should be in check, or BSF'll be at necks
When I say the beef lit, I don't mean a tweet or text (I don't mean that)
Shooters, I send three, no less, and let 'em take the CLS
Beef is I know where your people stay (I know), I don't need to flex (I don't)
But when you least expect it, I send a cleanup crew to eat your dress (brr)
Beef is a forever thing, careful when you speakin' threats
I achieved success and still can't even rest (Ah)
Took this street shit corporate, a dab of it, I just balanced it
Authentic, all this G shit I'm talkin', they never challenge it
Where I'm from, we ignorant, graduatin' average
F*ck that, if you can flip money, then you talented
Man, y'all lost, I could be payin' y'all off (Payin' off)
But I don't trip, 'cause y'all niggas broke and y'all soft (pussy)
Think I'm playin', y'all wrong, I'm frontin' when the grams all gone
Put a yellow band on my arm like I'm Lance Armstrong, ah

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