Mr. Fuji lyrics

[Intro: Westside Gunn]
Weighing 264 pounds, The Samurai Warrior, Mr. Fuji!
FUKK
Ayo, f*ck these n*ggas, yo
f*ck 'em!
My f*ckin' voice going out screaming on these n*ggas
I'm a f*ckin' legend
Get the f*ck outta here, yo

[Verse 1: Westside Gunn]
Ayo, I heard they pray to FLYGOD, you better be
Hit the brick with the pedigree
Flyer than me, Lord, you could never be
I got some n*ggas, shoot your kids, then get up for an extra key (Brrrr)
No heart n*ggas
CDG hearts on the shark head, pick yo' coffin n*ggas
I popped up like The Undertaker (Boom boom boom boom boom)
Six on the stove another brick, watch the crystals when it break up
Money machines running like Team Jamaica
Crept in the cell on the wake-up, left a n*gga poked, on the bottom bunk bed
Hit another brick with the rock bottom, n*gga
Went out for lunch
Table-cloth Fendi, n*gga
I f*ck around and hit any n*gga (Boom boom boom boom boom boom boom...!)
I'm Jig, not Jigga, n*gga
That's Conway, I'm more like Biggs, n*gga
Listening to Big, n*gga (Uh)
Weighing up some big, n*gga
My n*gga did 10
He came home looking like Sid Vicious
Thirty-two shots'll flip ya (Doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot...)
Flip your baby mama
Flip your grandmama
My n*gga did five
Came home looking like Ahmed Johnson
What up, my n*gga?
[Verse 2: Conway the Machine]
Uh, Bossanova pies with the extra skirt (Easy)
Bought some soda for my guy so he can stretch the work
I bet it hurt for n*ggas to see me bop, know what they said at first?
"Con, look at your face, you not marketable, it'll never work" (Uh?)
Now tees with my face on it, top-selling shirts
I've got murals in different countries, boy, watch how a legend work (Haah)
Kilo necklace on my shirt, Smith and Wesson work
Youngun' shooting on one leg, he call his weapon Dirk (Hahahaha!)
Shooters lurk for you, black van with the Hecklers in it (Drrr)
Have a n*gga wacked before my breakfast finished (Cap)
That b*tch kids at school, we in the kitchen cheffin' in it
Cook smoke, I let him keep the pot with all the extras in it (Go ahead, [?])
It's getting spooky for these rappers, right? (They scared, n*gga)
'Cause they already know that we don't rap alike
They know they ain't half as nice, I ain't even have to write
I feel like Pun, no wonder them n*ggas living this afterlife
Niagara Cafe, I had the rice with the pollo (Uhuh)
Quarter brick of the white go for ocho (Woo)
Had to throw the ice in the ro ro
Buffalo n*gga with a Sean Price mixed with Hov flow (Hahahaha)
Yeah, Griselda, b*tch, hmm
Uh, Daringer, this sh*t is f*ckin' bananas, n*gga, hehe, yeah
It's gettin' spooky for these n*ggas, man
Look at them, they scared, uhhh
[Verse 3: Smoke DZA]
Riiight, uh, they throwing salt, Mr. Fuji, huh
They must want a n*gga flip it, make a movie, huh
It's pimp or die, you know these hoes out here choosing us (Facts)
You wanna take pictures with rappers, male groupie, huh
All my n*ggas hit the streets, f*ck going check to check
You got no money in your pockets, yet you fresh to death (Irony)
Kushed God, b*tch, the best of best
Got the work bustin' through your city like the Lex Express (Uhuh)
He tryna get a plate on the arm
The moment he started rubbing me wrong (Ohoh)
I told him you die in droubt if you wait for the storm
In other words, I payed for his bond, right (Uh)
No damn favors, these grams like Van Vader (Uh)
Landscaping the game, fam, you can't save it (Uhuh)
Natural heel, but a fan favorite
Here to f*ck up the fun, they ain't f*cking with son