Letra de Derrick Boleman - Westside Gunn

(Feat. Stove God Cooks)

We don't give a fuck

Ayo

Turn it the fuck up, yeah (Yeah)

Ayo, told the fiends it's dryin', just hang tight (Just hang tight)

Half-loaded Draco, window tinted 'til you save Mike

You still push a twenty-one (You still push a twenty-one)

How you know it's a twenty-one, dog?

'Cause Rolls-Royce changed its headlights

I'm doper than you niggas could imagine (Ah)

Your favorite nigga 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 crisscross

Got the trunk in the front

Nigga had a pump, hit him in his 'stache (Boom)

Whole leg fell off and went to lunch

Had to get the five-eighty tinted

Mind your business, we got drug dealers in it

Buyin' up and I sent it (Ah)

Coke smellin' up the whole loft (Turn it the fuck up, ah, yeah)

I rock A-COLD-WALL* (Yeah)

'Fore 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 britches, 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 to eight figures (Ah)

I hate niggas

Uh, 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'

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

How you a pastor and cursing?

Be aware of problems, we are definitely living in our last day

Yes, I cuss

I'm the cussing pastor

While your 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 simple

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 said

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

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