Dunks lyrics

[Intro: Conway the Machine]
Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin for his seed remaineth in him
And he cannot sin, because he is born of God
Buck
Yo
Griselda by Fashion Rebels
Hold up

[Verse 1: Westside Gunn & Conway]
Ayo, arm, leg, leg, arm, head
Dread said put the TEC in the leg, then sick the heckler instead
His baby moms got his head in her lap, screamin' that he dead
I learned to politic ditto in the feds
Cherry X-7, see me on tour with the Wesson
Learn your lesson, my man got eighty-one, stressing
Never seen his kids once, you fake n*ggas front
Pucci trench coat, everything new but the pump
2K for the dunks, the SBs
Gianni swim trunks on jet skis
Threw the gat away, leave his face in his madam's plate
Saddam told me, "Hit the gravel and agitate"
Spot makin' 20K a day
Easy
Chopped the n*gga hands off for his brick, steady greasy
I make this fly sh*t look easy
Finnish Guess, the guests were in the kitchen
Flippin', you broke n*ggas better pay attention (Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo)
(Griselda)
Look
Listen
[Verse 2: Conway the Machine]
Hold the torch to the wax pipe
I'm a torch, you a match strike
Before you talk, get your facts right
n*gga, I'll beat a f*cking cop with his own flashlight, I ain't wrapped tight
Two hundred bars? n*gga, that's light
Riccardo Tisci black Nikes, the MAC-11, got it half-price ('Kay)
A glass of 'gnac, splash the ice
My life's a roll of the craps dice, blow the strap, plus I rap nice
Woo, probably bring it to your doorstep
Had amigo wrappin' before Offset (Talk to 'em)
Probably went over your head
I said, "I had 'migo wrappin' 'em before Offset" (Hah)
n*gga, that's wrappin' up a square
You rapping 'bout the trap when you actually wasn't there (Where was you?)
I swear, a lot of new rappers is weird
They wearing leggings and dyeing they f*cking hair
I swear, gotta admit I'm that n*gga
In the last two years, show me who did it bigger (Huh?)
Rocking furs for the winter
I might put fox on like '96 Jigga (Woo)
Real n*ggas follow the codes
Lil' homie was fourteen, six bodies, n*gga out of control
I'ma put the pot on the stove for a knot I can hold
Told the cops to suck a c*ck, n*gga, I didn't fold
In V.I.P., twenty b*tches, all the bottles is gold
Your WCW wanna swallow me whole
As do a lot of these hoes
Balenciaga with the croc on the toes
You n*ggas pus*y, y'all finally got exposed (I see through y'all n*ggas)
I'm on my motherf*cking job
These n*ggas wanna be king, but what's a king to a god? (Ah)
I'm really 'bout that action, homie, that ain't no façade
In the booth, I'm DeAndre Jordan catching the lob ('Kay)
[Outro]
Nosotros...
Somos bandidos
No sapos, hijueputa
No impor–
¡Los van a matar a todos, hijueputas!
¡Todos están muertos, hijueputas!