Derrick Boleman

[Intro: Westside Gunn & DJ Drama] We don't give a fuck Ayo Turn it the fuck up, yeah (Yeah) [Verse 1: Westside Gunn & Stove God Cooks] 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 'stachе (Boom) Whole leg fell off and wеnt 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 [Verse 2: Stove God Cooks] 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' [Chorus: 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 [Outro] 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