Westheimer

Westheimer Lyrics

Mh, mh
I ain't got my, uh

Backseat of the Rolls Royce
Screamin', "Money ain't a thing" in my Hov voice
I had to get rich, they left me no choice
It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist
It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist
I had to kill 'em, niggas left me no choice
We count money in the backseat of the Rolls Royce
Screamin', "Money ain't a thing"

Half zip (go), to a half brick (go), 'til they can't fit
Pan whippin', she like, "You got powder on your Stan Smith's" (haha)
I'm like, "Bitch, these Alexanders", my lawyer told me I ain't have to answer
It don't even matter, I went in there lyin'
Spinnin', I went Barry Sanders (I went Barry Sanders)
Play with them answers
They said the got me on the cameras
That's why to this day, I don't fuck with cameras (ha)
Boy, you better thank your God that that shit jammed up
(You better be thankin' God, nigga)
Cuban under the Canada Goose
Drop ceiling in the basement, four hundred bands in the roof (ask my mama)
Ha, they paint pictures in my likeness now
I'll have Lil Boosie out the two-seater come wipe you down
My section full of diamond chains and Ace bottles (it is)
Thick legs, small waist models, I had tunnel vision, Ye goggles
He got some shooters that don't play 'bout him (hahaha, Stove)

Backseat of the Rolls Royce (haha, me and Stove like Ace and Meechy)
Screamin', "Money ain't a thing" in my Hov voice (shoutout to Westside Gunn)
I had to get rich, they left me no choice (AKA Rolls Royce Richie)
It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist (ha, where we at?)
It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist (Mafia, what else?)
I had to kill 'em, niggas left me no choice (brrt)
We count money in the backseat of the Rolls Royce
Screamin', "Money ain't a thing" (it's on, frr, beep)

Twenties cloggin' up the machine, hall closet full of Supreme
Off-white and Amiri jeans at the Albright (up in the A)
Hands crampin' up from me countin', thumbin' all night (where we at?)
Money's bustin' out of the seams of my Ksubi denim (Blockworks)
Came through and we fried the scene, niggas knew we hit 'em (brrt)
Who we kiddin'? Chapo hit my line like, "Who gave you permission?" (I'm clear)
We weigh the work wet to get them extra grams, number crunchin' (ayy)
Showed up to the function and my roof was missing (drop ceilings)
Box stick in the Range, thots trickin' for change (thotianas)
For this new shit, I got my fiend hop, skip in the rain
Front tooth missin', look like Bobby from New Edition (gap tooth)
Sold her some dope so oily, when you boil it
Could probably Jiffy Lube an engine (uh)
I'm watchin' Scarface in my living room
Two bad bitches in my jacuzzi kissin' (muah)
No instruction manual needed, point me to the kitchen (skrrt)
This is dog food for thought, you niggas do the dishes (let's get it)

Back seat of the Rolls Royce
Screamin', "Money ain't a thing" in my Hov voice
I had to get rich, they left me no choice
It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist
It weigh a lil' extra 'cause the dope moist (I pimp those)
I had to kill 'em, niggas left me no choice (I did)
We count money in the back seat of the Rolls Royce (mmm-hmm)
Screamin', "Money ain't a thing" (ooh-wee, ooh-wee)

I own a Rolls Royce in real life
Blank and Pink painting like Serena Williams in pink tights
Did the bitch pay me the money? You shouldn't think twice
Do Lebron James drink spice? Do Meek Mill shoot dice?
And did Dave Mill ride bikes? I'm really him
They said that Trix was just for kids, well, silly them
These niggas think they Biggie Smalls, but they really Kim
I'm in the gym above the rim, lethal shooter
When Jay-Z dropped Ghetto Gospel, I was chillin' at the jeweler
Thank you, Hov, I could've signed to JAY-Z and been Roc-a-Fella
But I had four bitches clockin' millions from steady rockin' fellas
For lots of cheddar, all types of cheese, swiss, mozzarella
Shit, I done had so much pepper jack, I should've owned the deli
Had the sweet sales in the pen, punched down my celly
On the west side with a gun, pimped out the hotel-ly
The red roof on West Hummer, that's dead proof
Set trippin' didn't last you, these Texas diamonds on every tooth
On Sauce (ooh-wee)

Ain't that the word on the street?
FLYGOD
Has the best shit

Writer(s): Alvin Lamar Worthy, Aaron Cooks, Albert Walker Mondane, James Clay Jones II
Copyright(s): Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Universal Music Publishing Group
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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