Songtext zu 'Shower Shoe Lords (feat. Benny The Butcher)' von Westside Gunn

His spirit moving
His presence ever near
That's how I know he's real
In my heart I feel
That's how I know that God is real
Yeah, what's more, you—

I hear it in my sleep sometimes
See, I can see the sound of my glow—
Rhyme nice—

Ayo, I never gave a fuck, never will
Hit him eighteen times, he did the windmill (brrt)
My nigga wrote me, said he heard I'm out here killin' shit
I put a grand on his books (FLYGOD)

Ayo, Madonna sucking Basquiat dick up in the spot
Hundred round drums, fuck around and get chopped
Starin' at the turquoise Marilyn
Told my little nigga bag twenties, how imperative
Forty in the jawn undercovers, the 'caine doin' numbers
Lose my work whippin', I'll leave your brains in the oven
Splash paint on my Christopher Kane jumper
Crash the Mulsanne, I copped the plane last summer
The watch plain Jane, but it still cost sixty
Ran up in the spot, stole base, Ken Griffey
Blood-stained Persians, wide body's got curtains
TEC just jammed, I just left it, shit worthless
In the law library, tryin' to get time off
Prayin' five times a day, tryin' to get five off
Crush Doritos on this wheat rice and turkey, lord
I wore my boots to the shower, razor tucked in my jaw

Ayo, I never gave a fuck, never will
Hit him eighteen times, he did the windmill (brrt)
My nigga wrote me, said he heard I'm out here killin' shit
I put a grand on his books, look

[Verse 2: Benny the Butcher]
Uh, could've told my story on Oprah, 60 Minutes
How I earned plenty digits from risky business
What you know about a stint? Gotta sit for Christmas
Wifey on shit, that bitch missing visits
'Cause we was stretching white like Richard Simmons
Caught a case and the nigga pled the 5th Amendment
Yeah, you know the whip be rented and bricks be in it
Uh, and I'ma get this chicken till my clique get sentenced
I need a stash in the wall that hold ninety pies
Word to me, I've been live since '95
Took a trip to get the bag like ninety times
Yeah, you got it from your plug, but it's probably mines
All I needed was a trap spot, scale, and a plate
I ended up on a flat cot, cell upstate
Now I really need a black Glock, shells and a tank
Yeah, the shit'll get uglier than Welven Da Great
D's kicked in the door and snatched the four-pound
My man paid ten stacks just to blow trial
Now he callin' home, tellin' the crew to slow down
I'd be rich if I knew then what I know now
Uh, livin' with regrets and I'm still willing to bear it
Plus the shoe fits and I'm still willing to wear it
It's hard being a family man with interference
All the women and them trips to prison ended my marriage
I grew up with a few damn crooks that bake work up
Who used to have food stamp books and case workers
Me? I'm way further from a place you ain't heard of
Where you get rich, die tryin' and face murder
Where your best friends start to switch when the case surface
Where it's hard to trust a man who ain't nervous
I fell asleep with fifty grand in a locked apartment
That night, I had a dream like Dr. Martin, woo, yeah

I hear it in my sleep sometimes
See, I can see the sound of my glow—
Make 'em say that I'm God
Rhyme nice— (FLYGOD)

Big money, big money
Big money, big money
Hey, hey, hey, hey
You got big money, you got fancy cars
Everybody know you, it's like you a trap star
You're breakin' down bricks, choppin' up O's
Breakin' down bricks, choppin' up O's