[Westside Gunn]
We don't give a fuck
Ayo
Turn it the fuck up, yeah (Yeah)
[Westside Gunn & Stove God Cooks]
Ayo, told the fiends, it's dryin', just hang tight (Just hang tight)
Hair flow, Drake, when the window tinted, 'til you save Mike
You still pushin' twenty-one (You still pushin' you twenty-one)
How you know it's the twenty-one, dawg?
'Cause Rolls Royce changed it's headlights (Uh-huh)
You know how dope it is, you niggas couldn't imagine (Ah)
Your favorite nigga's favorite nigga, you can ask him
Skipped the Grammys two years straight to watch wrestling (Yeah)
Back to back red jailbreakers what's brackin'? (Skrrt)
Did two-hundred to the plug, what's love?
Pour twenty, got twenty on the front coupe, criss-cross
Got the trunk in the front
Nigga had a point, put him in his 'stache (Boom)
Whole leg fell off, it went to lunch
Had to get the five-eighty tinted
Mind ya business, we got drug dealers in here, buying up and now sinnin' (Ah)
Coke smellin' up the whole loft (Turn it the fuck up, ah, yeah)
I rock a Cold War (Yeah), for a ten-o'clock, we had roll call (Woo)
One-four-eighty-one-zero-five-five, shoot up the whole mall (Brr)
Left his brains in Goyard (Brr)
Ayo, rest in peace Virgil, rest in peace Dolph
Come a dollar short, rest in peace your moms
I'm on the graveyard shift, crackin' my jaw, had visions
Casablanca, my silk addictions
Double-Fs to bolster my bridges, the illest nigga (Turn it the fuck up, yeah)
Allah's my witness, forgave the sinners (Yeah), wash my pain away with druet
Steak forty-eight dinners, tryna wake the eight figures (Ah)
I hate niggas
[Stove God Cooks]
Ah, I went Bobby on the digital
I got the W, I got a rental four (Uh)
How many bricks? Fourty-four like Derrick Coleman with the Sixers
Who sick as us? Who sick as Stove? Stockton with the pick and roll
My young boy hop out shootin', do you niggas wrong (Yeah)
Rick James with the powder, kilo wrappers on the counter
Fuck what they pay, I don't really care about they numbers
What you gon' charge us if I buy like a thousand of 'em?
Two-tone Bentley continental
Is you really the plug or you the middle?
He blew trial, he was prayin' for acquittal
The ear to the stove, I'm the prince, I'm the symbol
Take that other door off, we gon' fit 'em all
Is it fire or is it fentanyl? (Yeah)
He say it don't matter, long as we get it off
And when they overdose, it make 'em get it more
But don't say nothin', we got the whole thing jumpin'
Margiela crochet bucket, cocaine bubblin'
[Stove God Cooks]
Mama loved me, the block fed me
Wrist deep in the pot, I cook lefty
Come test me, come test me
I got the million dollar recipe (Yeah), come test me (Yeah)
Come test me
I got everything we payed for and an extra key
Come test me
So much water whipped, I bought a jetski
Come test me
Mama loved me, the block fed me
Wrist deep in the pot, I cook lefty
Turn it the fuck up, yeah (Yeah)
Well, bitch, let me tell you something, you must be a bitch
Now, you a pastor incursion
Be aware of problems, we are definitely living in our last day
Yes, I cuss
I'm the cussing pastor
While you're motherfucking pastor ain't doin' a goddamn thing
I'm the cussing pastor that used my platform to raise six-thousand dollars for this mother who was going through a plight
While these other ignorant-ass, non-functioning ass pastors wasn't doing a motherfucking thing in this city
Now, if that bothers you, that I'm a cussing pastor, then get your motherfuckin' ass off plain and damn self
See, I don't play, it's about being real, it's about the truth
And I don't give a damn what none of you bitches says
And none of you ho-ass niggas either
It's about telling the truth just like it is
So, bitch, bye, I'ma, I'ma take you off so you don't have to worry about it
See, y'all be worried about the wrong thing
"You curse," yes, I curse, hell, Jesus probably cursed
Plain and damn simple
See, I don't play
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
