Westside Gunn – Ishkabibble’s (ft. Black Thought) (Audio, Lyrics)

Westside Gunn - Ishkabibble's (ft. Black Thought) (prod. Beat Butcha & Daringer)

Westside Gunn is here with ” Ishkabibble’s” featuring Black Thought. Listen, stream, buy, mp3 download the song produced by Beat Butcha & Daringer.

Westside Gunn Ishkabibble's
Westside Gunn Ishkabibble’s

The Griselda crew is back in full swing after having to delay their month-long run in August. Westside Gunn just came through with his third solo project of the year, WHO MADE THE SUNSHINE, serving as his official debut on Shady Records. Hailing budding underground stars and bonafide legends alike, Gunn’s latest project boasts several outstanding moments but it’s his collaboration with Black Thought that truly stands out. Beat Butcha and Daringer hold down the production on this one, delivering that signature Griselda sound with crunchy snares and hypnotic loops. Westside Gunn comes through swinging with his nasal vocals making artful boasts like, “Bodies on the nine/ Murakami with the rhyme/ My shooter rockin’ red Muslim garms ’cause he Slime.” With no hook to connect them, Black Thought rides the beat flexing his storytelling abilities, recounting the rise of a dope boy in South Philadelphia.

Westside Gunn – Ishkabibble’s (ft. Black Thought) (prod. Beat Butcha & Daringer)

Lyrics

[Intro: Westside Gunn]
Ayo

[Verse 1: Westside Gunn]
Over pots, it’s the overlord sittin’ on crates (Ah)
Half and half durags, sippin’ the quarter water
Quarter in my socks, lord, and we rocked
We hopped up out the Porsche and torture (Skrrt)
Hermès sport rocker, fiends actin’ like it’s a soap opera
“West, I’ma die, I need four dollars”, no problem
Bring back six, and two more niggas
Dior dealers, stashed about half in the floor in it (Ah)
Ain’t no business like raw business, S6 all tinted
Wipe down my guns, make sure it’s authentic
Aw shit, head spinnin’, lead noodles
Monogram collar on the red poodle, Feds will do you filthy
Have you comin’ home seventy, some shit’ll ever be (Ah)
Bentley on Beverly (Skrrt), Palm Angel MAC that shoot heavenly (Brr, brr, brr)
Drop kick the brick and hit the Pedigree (Hit the Pedigree, ah)
Ayo, bodies on the nine, Murakami with the rhyme (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
My shooter rockin’ red Muslim garms ’cause he Slime (Ah)
Find another vein, he’ll be fine, we divine (Ah)
Skeleton wrist, what a time, what a time (Ah)
My nigga got caught with dog food, got a dime (Got a dime)
Didn’t drop a dime on the surf, I’ma shine (I’ma shine)
We mobbin’ on the yard, one was nine, where was Shine? (Where was Shine?)
I’m Sly Green in his prime (Ah)

[Verse 2: Black Thought]
Ayo, King Musa, key to what, the Mali gold
Hire y’all to hold and keep cleaner than the [?] soul
Mean and never highly questionable like Bomani Jones
The silent plot, the angel investor nobody knows
His clothes smellin’ like [?] and Somali rose
Them fiends histamines keep ’em with a snotty nose (Damn)
What a waste like the place where that shotty goes
They’ll prolly doze in the corner, tell ’em “Adios”
Heron could cop a fake rhyme, but he pushin’ neon
This coke’ll knock the face off the Sphinx like ‘Leon
He just an unassumin’ normal human, never beyond
What seem to be his means, he ain’t tryna do it eon
I see him when he park up, he rarely ever talk up
The elevator broke, he in a four-story walk up
West Indian Archie memory, he ain’t even spark up
He pull the plug on every enemy that try to mark up
The price point, homie on his kingpin for life joint
Big Darby, private island, just him and his wife joint
Word, he only visit via charter, still beg, borrow, and barter
Son, we gotta move smarter like a Carter
And stand in purple rain like Prince and Apollonia
Playin’ like Chillean seabass in Patagonia
It’s only a few who could see past the average homie
Or the reason for the sneezin’, be glad we got pneumonia, kid
On some cleaner than ammonia shit

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