City, Sos, & Me - Westside Gunn

So there’s no use in asking

Your point of view

Ayo, the drop pair cherry red

Red bottoms, Mack Elev, we will clap your head

Medusa head locs, loft kitchen reek of coke

Cocaine Carreras, parlayin' me and Sos

Bricks for what?

Get ten of 'em

Get Killa Tone a Bushmaster, he’ll flip somethin'

Big chains on, I’m lookin' rich

Bust the duct tape, it smelled like piss

KTZ sweatsuit down to the kicks

Stepped on the dope twice

All black oyster, P roll with the pink ice

Mink white, 50 shots before he can blink twice

Got his brains leanin' to the side like some cheap Nikes

Easy come, easy go, wack him for his Yeezy 1's

Eazy-E Raider snap back that match the joints

Lookin' like Schoeder kid, hold up

Mix the cryonite with the China white, bet my niggas blow up

Rolls Royce rolled up

That nigga did 20 flat—nigga, so what?

We them new niggas hangin' out the roof, the truth

Mix the Pérignon with the grapefruit

Moschino gloves on the hammer

Shot his man up at Barney’s choppin' grams up

World premiere, hang that nigga from the lid

Rocks clear, choppers swingin' from the chandelier

The flyest nigga on this mic, shit, I swear

When I got my first brick I dropped tears

12−12 A resumes with cooked flake

I was fucked up, I got a back off of big gate

Adolf Versace plates

Malcolm X Prada frames analyze the snakes

Human made joggers cuz they sweatin' me

It’s got an apron on flexin' the recipe

All this gold on might be the death of me

The six kilo Cuban link especially

Coke on my sweatshirt like Heavy D

Chanel mask on baggin' heavy D

Rolls Royce rolled up

That nigga did 20 flat—nigga, so what?

We them new niggas hangin' out the roof, the truth

Mix the Pérignon with the grapefruit

So what have you got for me?

John Doe.

Between 25−30 years of age.

Cause of death looks like OG

Over gold.

Any signs of foul play, Ronnie?

No, sir.

Looks like a case of just too many gold chains