Dj Clue - Claires Back lyrics

[Part I] [Intro: DJ Clue? & Westside Gunn] World famous DJ Clue?, Desert Storm (Ayo) Westside Gunn (Brr, brr) Y'all ni**as frontin;, man Y'all big homies ain't got no paper (Ayo, ayo, brr, brr, ayo) We still spendin' money from '99 (Brr, brr, ayo) Shoutout Griselda (Ayo) Let's go (Ayo, ayo) Griselda [Chorus: Westside Gunn] How your big homie don't got no money? (Ah) Travis Scott factors, Armani rugby (Ah) Rodeo, ni**as in Ferrari buggys (Skrrt) You ever woke up with a bottom bunkie? (Mmm) The ni**as who used to love don't love me (Uh-uh) Got so much money, told that b*tch "Don't touch me" (Woo) Ayo (Ah) Got so much money, told that b*tch "Don't touch me" (Woo) [Verse 1: Westside Gunn] Ayo, Amiri high tops with the bones (With the bones, ah) You ever pull it out, you'd better shoot it 'til it's all gone (Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom) If you make it back, you know it's on (You know it's on, ah) Name another rapper kickin' chopper on the phone (Brring) Sellin' brick after brick after brick, I'm in the zone (Ah) My ni**a found God, now he in a cell readin' Job We on the rec yard, me and Scoob like Ike and Stones (Ah) Tell Ye we need to have Sunday Service in this ho Got the pole on me, make the wrong move, he's on the floor (Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom boom) He took a headshot, now when he talk, he talkin' slow (Ah) Drove bricks a thousand miles, no bad chromogenic Four hundred flat, I was gettin' money like that (Ah) Get you killed for five thousand on a weekday Left Bennett, had dice games up in Pete Sake's More vintage, ECW, Simmon off the rope [Chorus: Westside Gunn] How your big homie don't got no money? (Ah) Travis Scott factors, Armani rugby (Ah) Rodeo, ni**as in Ferrari buggys (Skrrt) You ever woke up with a bottom bunkie? (Mmm) The ni**as who used to love don't love me (Uh-uh) Got so much money, told that b*tch "Don't touch me" (Woo) Ayo (Ah) Got so much money, told that b*tch "Don't touch me" (Woo) [Interlude: Westside Gunn] Ayo That's fu*kin God, ni**a (That's fu*kin God, ni**a) The Richard Mille on my motherfu*kin' wrist, that's God, ni**a (Ah) The kilo on my other wrist, that's God, ni**a (Ah) The three kilos in my neck, that's God, ni**a A hundred in each ear, that's God, ni**a (Woo) Thirty thousand in my mouth, that's God, ni**a And I still got about half a million somewhere else I don't even fu*kin' put on no more, ni**a (Uh-uh) That's God, ni**a See, I get offended easily (Very fu*kin' easily) Stupid b*tch gon' ask me if I was a millionaire I got that sh*t in art, b*tch (b*tch) I got three cars that's a million, b*tch (Stupid b*tch) I got that in jewels, b*tch, I got that in clothes, b*tch You do the fu*kin' math (You do the fu*kin' math) Eastside Buffalo ni**a (Ah) 0-5-5, free my ni**a Sly (Free Kutter, free Lo') Free Hot (Free my ni**a Cease) Ah [Part II] [Skit] And this sport seems to just get a little more violent every time I step into the ring Please, ladies and gentleman, here on Long Island Welcome the world Television champion Griselda [Intro: Conway the Machine] Brr You know we still in the streets, ni**a Brr Still gettin' money outside, ni**a [Verse 1: Conway the Machine & Benny the Butcher] Look, the Scorpion in the scale, that's why they gotta pay us Violators still got old blood dried up on the razor (Ah) Fry the yay up, got every Arm and Hammer box from the Bodega Now I'm way up and I've run out of favors, hope y'all got y'all weight up (Got your weight up, ni**a) They try to score on us, we chase down, block the layup (Ha) Yopper sprayer, y'all ni**as is federal cooperators (Hahahaha) Three money counters on the counter count my paper Hundred thousand dollar wages when I'm out in Vegas (Talk to 'em) My b*tch hope out of a Bentayga, body like Teyana Taylor Sellin' dog, you know my product come from outta Venezuela (Woo) Bricks of fentanyl for forty, I got za in different flavors (Ah) Catch me rockin' all my jewelry court-side watchin' the Lakers (Machine, b*tch) b*tch, my lights so beautiful Used to bag five eights, I had white in my cuticles (Uh-huh) My shooter poppin' thirties, he must like pharmaceuticals Thirty on him, ain't no tellin' what he might come do to you (Boom boom boom boom boom boom) Cullinan, you know it's me, you see the white one movin' through (You see me, b*tch) Got a beam on the stick, Griselda, we the truer livin' kings of this sh*t (Griselda, ah) Fashion Rebel Purple Brand jeans with the stitch (Uh-huh, uh-huh, you know that) It's Conway a.k.a the Machine, b*tch (Brr) [Verse 2: Benny the Butcher] Uh, this sh*t I learned in the trenches just made us felons (For real) Did a bid and when I wrote to the crib, she saved the letters When you come up and they don't get to eat with you, that make 'em jealous (Pussy) You should only be concerned 'bout the paper we made together Sorry, I'm not sorry, block parties to yacht parties I'm a trapper, I answer first thing when the pot call me Speedin', doin' sixty over the limit in drop 'Raris (Skrrt, skrrt) If I can't make brick money off it, it's not for me Land in your city private, you know hot boys do (Griselda) The driver on the tarmac, you know hot boys move (Ah) In three suburbans back to back, we bring the convoy through (Bring the convoy though) I rode in five hundred horses without the cowboy boots, ni**a (Foreigns, ni**a) My rep with the connect, that's what got me the work cheap I'm independent still, my numbers be solid the first week I'm the Butcher, ni**as load up they Glocks when they heard me (Brr) I make December 25th feel like Friday the 13th When I told Def Jam my number, they said, "No problem" (Okay, okay) Seven figures just to rap, it feel like I robbed them (Hahahaha) I'm the truth, but ask these rappers and they gon' say I'm a problem And I get it 'cause I did it like Guy Fisher in Harlem, ni**a (Ah) [Outro: Benny the Butcher] Griselda The Butcher comin', ni**a