Ray Mysterio
The Alchemist Lyrics


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Ayo (brrt)
Ayo, ayo, ayo, ayo (ayo, ayo)
Luxurious fly shit (brrt, brrt)
Ayo (ayo)

Turn Judas for them Yeezy Season 3s
The pump's in the sleeves, don't make a nigga reach
Coke look bleach, pots and forks by the sink
Busted duct tape, that shit stink (shit stink, nigga)
Same night off for a week
Off-white collab, the MAC hangin' out the Lambo Jeep (brrt)
If you slip, I better catch yo' ass
Gave you 32 real fast (real fast)
My nigga this Hall and Nash
The imperial
Everything we shoot got no serials
This fly shit through your stereos
Coke flip like Ray Mysterio (now listen)
You fuck niggas don't hear me though
This that Fashion Avenue flow
Get it like Tuna in Blow and then we blow

(They can't do nothin' but respect us) ow
(Man, listen, we got EmpresSil) yeah
Talk to them bloodclaat, zeen? (You was already fucking up)
(Betta watch yo' head)

Look, name a rapper that's half as ill
That can match the skill that's half as real
Niggas be sayin', "Con, you have to chill"
'Cause I be spazzin' still, I swear these sucka niggas weird
Rap is good, but I will clap 'em still and fuck up my career (facts)
I ain't worried 'bout a jail
Don't give a fuck about them years (uh-uh)
Wild until I get the needle or I fuckin' get the chair
You got a blicky, but you pussy niggas bust it out of fear
My shooter in fatigues
Shotty like he huntin' for a deer, yeah (boom, boom, boom)
Run down on you and fire twice
The bullet wound lookin' like a lion bite
Bullets lookin' like a half a stick of dynamite
I was buyin' guns when you other niggas was buyin' Nikes
Rhymin' like Esco in the '90s, flow raw as a line of white
I beat your favorite rapper with an iron pipe (okay)
In the winter, fly to LA, where the climate right
Fuckin' the kinda hoes you'll never fuck in your entire life
Uh, Versace belt just to tuck the ratchet (uh-huh)
Can smell the piss on them bricks before I bust the plastic (okay)
Shooters lurkin' for you, they in fuckin' traffic (they lurkin')
They won't rest until they put you in a fuckin' casket, uh (brrt)

Had to really, really do something to get killed
Let's take it right on on, everything will be alright, y'all
You said good for what?
The streets love ain't about love, you know
Bottom line (bottom line, word up)
It's a whole different code
That, that's where the gang's at

The fuck is that? What's that?
Fuck you talkin' 'bout?
I don't run from the bag
I know one thing for sure, you won't be seen on the album
Fuck that niceness, see, y'all be nice, you know I'm sayin'
I'm in my fucking bag
(You gon' get loud, ah) are you dumb?




Probably ain't got no record player nowhere
So there you are, you getting the 411

Overall Meaning

The Alchemist's song "Ray Mysterio" featuring Westside Gunn and Conway is a rap song filled with references to luxury items, money, and the street life. The track opens with the sound of gunshots before the rappers start their verses. The first verse is performed by Westside Gunn, who brags about turning "Judas" for Yeezy Season 3s, referring to his willingness to betray people for the right price. He also talks about his cocaine dealings and how he can flip it like Ray Mysterio, the Mexican-American professional wrestler known for his high-flying moves. Westside Gunn mentions the "off-white collab," referring to the Off-White streetwear brand, and how they collaborated on a product with MAC cosmetics hangin' out the Lamborghini Jeep. He mentions the seriousness of his criminal underworld connections by stating, "everything we shoot got no serials."


Conway delivers the second verse, which is more aggressive and straightforward than Westside Gunn's. He challenges other rappers by asking them to name one rapper that's half as ill as he is. He discusses his willingness to clap back at rivals and cause physical harm and how he isn't worried about getting caught. The verse also talks about his shooters in the gang, dressed in fatigues and hunting for prey. He refers to the violence that is common in his world, sounding prideful of buying guns before other people started buying Nikes. Conway raps about his luxurious lifestyle by mentioning flying to LA and Versace belts to tuck the ratchet. He ends his verse confidently by stating that he is "in [his] fucking bag."


Line by Line Meaning

Turn Judas for them Yeezy Season 3s
Betraying people for some expensive clothes


The pump's in the sleeves, don't make a nigga reach
I have a gun hidden in my clothes, don't make me reach for it


Coke look bleach, pots and forks by the sink
I'm cooking cocaine in the kitchen and have utensils laying around


Busted duct tape, that shit stink (shit stink, nigga)
There's some stinky, old duct tape laying around


Same night off for a week
I'm partying for an entire week straight


Off-white collab, the MAC hangin' out the Lambo Jeep (brrt)
I have a fancy Off-white collaboration bag and a gun hanging out of my car


If you slip, I better catch yo' ass
If you mess up, I'll be there to save you


Gave you 32 real fast (real fast)
I gave you some drugs quickly


My nigga this Hall and Nash
Me and my friend are like wrestling tag team Hall and Nash (AKA The Outsiders)


The imperial
We are powerful rulers


Everything we shoot got no serials
We use guns that can't be traced back to us


This fly shit through your stereos
We're spreading our cool lifestyles through music


Coke flip like Ray Mysterio (now listen)
We're clever with flipping cocaine like wrestler Rey Mysterio's acrobatics


You fuck niggas don't hear me though
Nobody's listening to me


This that Fashion Avenue flow
Our style is high-end and fashionable


Get it like Tuna in Blow and then we blow
We make money like the character Tuna from the movie 'Blow' and then we spend it


(They can't do nothin' but respect us) ow
We demand respect


(Man, listen, we got EmpresSil) yeah
We have Empressil (a drug?)


Talk to them bloodclaat, zeen? (You was already fucking up)
Can we talk to them? You're already starting to mess up


(Betta watch yo' head)
You better watch out for danger


Look, name a rapper that's half as ill
Challenge: find a rapper as good as me


That can match the skill that's half as real
Nobody is as talented and genuine as I am


Niggas be sayin', "Con, you have to chill"
People tell me to calm down


'Cause I be spazzin' still, I swear these sucka niggas weird
I can't help but be crazy, these other rappers are just strange


Rap is good, but I will clap 'em still and fuck up my career (facts)
I'll ruin my future by shooting these rappers to death, but it's worth it


I ain't worried 'bout a jail
I'm not afraid of going to jail


Don't give a fuck about them years (uh-uh)
I don't care about wasting years of my life in prison


Wild until I get the needle or I fuckin' get the chair
I'm going to live my life recklessly until I die from drugs or execution


You got a blicky, but you pussy niggas bust it out of fear
You have a gun, but you're too scared to use it


My shooter in fatigues
The person I hired to shoot people is wearing military-style clothing


Shotty like he huntin' for a deer, yeah (boom, boom, boom)
The shotgun he's carrying is powerful and sounds like an explosion


Run down on you and fire twice
They will chase you down and shoot at you twice


The bullet wound lookin' like a lion bite
The gunshot wound will look like a bite from a powerful animal


Bullets lookin' like a half a stick of dynamite
The bullets are so powerful, they resemble dynamite


I was buyin' guns when you other niggas was buyin' Nikes
I was investing in guns while other rappers were just buying shoes


Rhymin' like Esco in the '90s, flow raw as a line of white
My rap flows are like Nas (AKA Esco) from the 90s, and my words are as uncut as a line of cocaine


I beat your favorite rapper with an iron pipe (okay)
I can beat up your favorite rapper with a pipe


In the winter, fly to LA, where the climate right
I'll travel to Los Angeles during the winter when the weather is nice


Fuckin' the kinda hoes you'll never fuck in your entire life
I'm having sex with women that you'll never even have a chance with


Uh, Versace belt just to tuck the ratchet (uh-huh)
I'm wearing an expensive Versace belt to hide my gun


Can smell the piss on them bricks before I bust the plastic (okay)
I can tell that the drugs are bad before I even take them out of the packaging


Shooters lurkin' for you, they in fuckin' traffic (they lurkin')
People are out to kill you and they're waiting in traffic


They won't rest until they put you in a fuckin' casket, uh (brrt)
They will do everything in their power to kill you and won't stop until you're dead


Had to really, really do something to get killed
You must have seriously provoked someone to reach the point of being killed


Let's take it right on on, everything will be alright, y'all
Let's stay calm and everything will be okay


You said good for what?
What's the point of being good or playing fair in these streets?


The streets love ain't about love, you know
There's no genuine love or loyalty in the streets


Bottom line (bottom line, word up)
To get to the point, this is the truth


It's a whole different code
In the streets, there are different rules and codes to follow


That, that's where the gang's at
This is where the real gangsters are


The fuck is that? What's that?
What are you even talking about?


Fuck you talkin' 'bout?
What are you trying to say?


I don't run from the bag
I never shy away from a high-stakes situation


I know one thing for sure, you won't be seen on the album
You won't be featured on my successful music album


Fuck that niceness, see, y'all be nice, you know I'm sayin'
I don't care about being nice, stop acting fake


I'm in my fucking bag
I'm focused on my business and making money


(You gon' get loud, ah) are you dumb?
Don't get angry, are you stupid?


Probably ain't got no record player nowhere
You're not even relevant enough to own a record player


So there you are, you getting the 411
Here's the information you needed to know




Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Royalty Network
Written by: Daniel Alan Maman, Alvin Lamar Worthy, Demond Price

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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