[Title Removed]

Ayo, blood on the brim of the fitted, don't ask whose

Hermès belt holding up the Dior, two-tone bruise

Every brick a masterpiece, Alchemist on the track

Bought a Egon Schiele with the dirty money, no plaque

Shooters got credentials, my trigger man read Proust

Diamonds choking out my collar — call it haute couture noose

Stash house smell like cedar and coke, Wallabees on the mat

Crept through the East Side with the iron tucked under the Phat

Three bricks in the Goyard, they thought it was luggage

Customs ain't built for a n***a this cunning

Basquiat on the safe wall, combination's a opus

FLYGOD the franchise — everybody else is a bonus

Ayo, Gravel Voice through the chapel, congregation froze

Saint Laurent trench dragging, cost more than your home

Posted in the gallery with the hammer in the blazer

Curator thought I was a buyer — I was casing the paper

Rare '92 Polo piece hanging in the bunker

My whole wardrobe a museum, you just window-shopping hunger

Wock in the Venetian glass, incense burning Egyptian

My whole operation art — the violence is the exhibition

George Bondo shifted weight while the lawyers got paid

Bills fans throwing snowballs — we was throwing grenades

Renny had the block so froze he needed a thaw

Griselda written in the marble — permanent,

Verse 3

The sun had a shadow that followed my silhouette south

I came from the pulpit with dirt on the roof of my mouth

Seen 'em turning the copper to gold on the corner of Rosecrans

Westside Gunn got the masterpiece dripping on both hands

Art of the hustle is different than brushstrokes and palettes

Checking the balance while dodging the gavel and malice

K-Dot in the cockpit, navigating through the museum

Spirit of a giant, while you watching from the coliseum

The ghost of the projects is haunted by high-end attire

Sacrificial lambs for the luxury that they desire

Compton and Buffalo bonding over the cold aesthetic

My lyrics are lethal, my lineage highly prophetic

Outro

The king of the coast meet the lord of the underground

Paint it all red till the canvas is profound

F-L-Y-G-O-D

The Compton visionary

Modern day masterpieces

Yeah

Boom boom boom boom boom!

Finished work

Amen