Listen, Read Lyrics, Mp3 Download, Stream and Buy “$500 Ounces” by Westside Gunn featuring Freddie Gibbs & Roc Marciano. The song was produced by The Alchemist.
Westside Gunn $500 Ounces (ft. Freddie Gibbs & Roc Marciano)
Westside Gunn and the rest of Griselda have been on a dominant run over the last year and with Pray For Paris, WSG has cemented himself as a name you can trust when it comes to delivering great music. His latest project features a plethora of dope features, including on the track “$500 Ounces” which features the likes of Freddie Gibbs and Roc Marciano. Oh, and did I mention there is a production from The Alchemist as well?
This track goes over incredibly well as Gibbs starts it off with some bars about drugs, Balenciaga, and crying when the Los Angeles Lakers play. From there, Roc Marciano and Westside Gunn trade bars that will have you aggressively nodding your head in rhythm with the beat.
If this track proves anything, it’s that Westside Gunn is incredibly consistent and knows how to get the best out of his features.
Westside Gunn – $500 Ounces (ft. Freddie Gibbs & Roc Marciano) (prod. The Alchemist)
Lyrics
[Intro: Freddie Gibbs]
Yeah, yeah, Kane train
Uh, mic check, check
Yeah, mic check, check
Uh, yeah, yeah, mic check, check
Yeah, uh, uh, mic check, check
Yeah, uh, nigga, check, check
Yeah, yeah, yeah
[Verse 1: Freddie Gibbs]
It’s been a long time since I tasted
Workin’ that hot plate, cookin’ in my homeboy basement
And Lambo knocked the coke off the table, that nigga waste it
I showed him the new straps, the AK with the green laser (Bing, bing, bing)
I’m on some street shit, my baby mama tweet shit to stir up my haters
I’m like, “Why she wanna stick me for my paper?”
But fuck it, that’s life, it’s what you make it, one day you gon’ meet your maker
Kobe died, I swear a nigga might cry when I watch the Lakers, damn
All our mamas would watch us, boy, we was neighbors
But how you look a nigga mom in the face when you shot her baby? (Bow)
I got skeletons in my closet, right next to Balenciaga
Call me Fred DiBiase, garage is a million dollars, my nogga
Yeah, it’s just the way that God be plannin’ shit
I drop a load, I take a load off, that’s load management
And last lap, I dropped the ho off and bagged a Spanish bitch
Pulled out the dick, she snort the coke off, I’m livin’ lavishly
[Interlude: Freddie Gibbs & Roc Marciano]
Yeah, Kane, huh
Bitch nigga, you know what it is, baby, yeah
Told you from the go
Told you from the get go
You ain’t gotta go home, but you gotta go
[Verse 2: Roc Marciano & Westside Gunn]
Uh, ain’t no Ls on my jacket
The MAC-11 hit your melon and crack it (Crack it)
Ain’t no pads for that in that medicine cabinet (No)
Can’t mess with whatever’s in that gelatin tablet (Fuck that)
Ten metal fragments can flip your skeleton backwards (Flip ’em)
All you seen after that was blackness (Mm)
This ain’t no backpack shit, he slangs half a brick
Bitch, you need to ease back a bit, the trench has cactus pins (Ow)
The seats in the Benz Lenny Kravitz skin, don’t get your cabbage split (Tan shit)
It don’t matter what establishment, we in it (We gettin’ shipped the fuck out)
Always get the biggest chicken wing, you don’t get to eat on one onion ring
At least a hundred Jesus links underneath the mink
Yellow Bugatti look like a bumblebee
Compressor on the front to muffle the heat
The submachine gun, it come with the beam amongst other things that’s unseen
To run with me, you need sunscreen cream, see I’m covered in bling (Bling)
Motherfucker, ain’t no shade, even under the trees where monkeys swing (Ah-ah-ah)
The marijuana money green, I’m runnin’ the company like a drug ring
Livin’ comfortably off of gut instinct
That fell upon me once I was done with the streets (Uh)
You still scheme in public, P, let me bring you up to speed
You get your wig spun like a tumbleweed in Belize, I get on the beat and bleed (Bleed)
Sacrifice of livin’ and bein’ to please deities
Them were VVs, flood the big Nefertiti piece (Ayo)
[Verse 3: Westside Gunn]
I had the rusty forty-five, I had the MAC, too (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, brr, I had the MAC too, brr)
You hang with a rat, you a rat, too (You’s a rat, too)
We used to chip in on the big, bag it up, that’s my rent
You take a shift, I take a shift, the feds come, raise my kids
Take my phone, keep the licks goin’, never bust a brick open (Ah)
12-12 baggers was baggin’, flaggin’
Rick Owens over pots, hand me some ice, he left the fridge open
I’m tryna see my kids grow up, y’all niggas’ ribs showin’
God made light, Dolce Gabbana on my A-like day and night (Day and night)
My young niggas’ll take your life (Boom, boom, ah, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
East side niggas’ll never change (They’ll never change)
Brick come through and spill your brains (Brr, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, brr)
