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Westside Gunn - 1989 Lyrics



Westside Gunn - 1989 Lyrics




[ Featuring Stove God Cooks ]

Every other city we go
Every other ghetto
No matter where I go
I see the same folds

Ayo
We can meet at Carbone
Meet me at the Aria
Hundred round Glock on me (gangsta, gangsta)
Look wrong, I'm poppin' ya (boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom)
Three piece Salvatore
Lookin' like the mafia
Wrist cost twenty bricks, neck like a hockey puck
Hopped out the maybach (skrrt), then did a walk up (boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom)
Every bad bitch in my city, I done f*cked 'em (ahh)
I'm the flyest shooter never seen, nigga f*ck ya
Bodybag on top of bodybag, nigga wassup? (Doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot)
Hustler in my veins, left the gang for Marco bacon
Central park legend, cheffin' in Versace aprons (whip)
Rest in peace Dip, lil bitch, I'm the shit (ah)
Rest in peace Munch, havin' gecko for lunch
Rest in peace Pete, park a Benz in the street (skrrt)
Rest in peace Boo, got shooters on the roof (grr)
Rest in peace Joe, richest nigga in the low
Bricks got hit then stamped on it off the boat (mmm)
I heard them niggas tellin', my niggas present
Hit his ass with a buckshot (boom boom boom)
That nigga yellin'
Smilin' on my mugshot (mmm), two-time felon
Bullets went clean through (boom boom boom)
Now we stretchin'

One thousand (one thousand)
One thousand
36 ounces, I turned up in public houses
36 ounces, rich in public houses

I might shoot the Rolls Royce through your block
I might shoot the Maybach through your block (gangsta, gangsta)
I might have young boy come- f*ck it (brr, baow-baow)

One thousand
One thousand
Smilin' on the fed cameras
Rest in peace Well, we still smilin' at the fed cameras
36 ounces (woo)
Had my momma calling my phone like
This shit gotta stop one day (woo)
If ain't no switch on it, that ain't gunplay (brr, baow-baow)
I might drop a hundred bricks on yo' block (a hundred)
I might have a hundred shooters on yo' block (haha)
You know me and my niggas really rich, do you not?

One thousand (one thousand)
One thousand
36 ounces, I turned up in public houses (I turned it up)
36 ounces, bricks in public houses (I turned it up)

I might shoot the Rolls Royce through your block (keep goin')
I might shoot the Maybach through your block (real shit)
I might have young boy come- f*ck it (brr, baow-baow)
Say a prayer for me

Gangsta Grizills
And Then You Pray For Me
Lord knows I need it
Demons on my shoulders
Demons in the streets
Demons in my sheets
If any of y'all can stop God body
Trials and tribulations only make me stronger
We built for this
Nigga we built this
We preach it to the streets forever
Legendary
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

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Every other city we go
Every other ghetto
No matter where I go
I see the same folds

Ayo
We can meet at Carbone
Meet me at the Aria
Hundred round Glock on me (gangsta, gangsta)
Look wrong, I'm poppin' ya (boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom)
Three piece Salvatore
Lookin' like the mafia
Wrist cost twenty bricks, neck like a hockey puck
Hopped out the maybach (skrrt), then did a walk up (boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom)
Every bad bitch in my city, I done f*cked 'em (ahh)
I'm the flyest shooter never seen, nigga f*ck ya
Bodybag on top of bodybag, nigga wassup? (Doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot)
Hustler in my veins, left the gang for Marco bacon
Central park legend, cheffin' in Versace aprons (whip)
Rest in peace Dip, lil bitch, I'm the shit (ah)
Rest in peace Munch, havin' gecko for lunch
Rest in peace Pete, park a Benz in the street (skrrt)
Rest in peace Boo, got shooters on the roof (grr)
Rest in peace Joe, richest nigga in the low
Bricks got hit then stamped on it off the boat (mmm)
I heard them niggas tellin', my niggas present
Hit his ass with a buckshot (boom boom boom)
That nigga yellin'
Smilin' on my mugshot (mmm), two-time felon
Bullets went clean through (boom boom boom)
Now we stretchin'

One thousand (one thousand)
One thousand
36 ounces, I turned up in public houses
36 ounces, rich in public houses

I might shoot the Rolls Royce through your block
I might shoot the Maybach through your block (gangsta, gangsta)
I might have young boy come- f*ck it (brr, baow-baow)

One thousand
One thousand
Smilin' on the fed cameras
Rest in peace Well, we still smilin' at the fed cameras
36 ounces (woo)
Had my momma calling my phone like
This shit gotta stop one day (woo)
If ain't no switch on it, that ain't gunplay (brr, baow-baow)
I might drop a hundred bricks on yo' block (a hundred)
I might have a hundred shooters on yo' block (haha)
You know me and my niggas really rich, do you not?

One thousand (one thousand)
One thousand
36 ounces, I turned up in public houses (I turned it up)
36 ounces, bricks in public houses (I turned it up)

I might shoot the Rolls Royce through your block (keep goin')
I might shoot the Maybach through your block (real shit)
I might have young boy come- f*ck it (brr, baow-baow)
Say a prayer for me

Gangsta Grizills
And Then You Pray For Me
Lord knows I need it
Demons on my shoulders
Demons in the streets
Demons in my sheets
If any of y'all can stop God body
Trials and tribulations only make me stronger
We built for this
Nigga we built this
We preach it to the streets forever
Legendary
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Alvin Worthy, Aaron Cooks
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group




Westside Gunn - 1989 Video
(Show video at the top of the page)


Performed By: Westside Gunn
Featuring: Stove God Cooks
Language: English
Length: 4:11
Written by: Alvin Worthy, Aaron Cooks

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