Derrick Boleman Lyrics

[Intro: Westside Gunn & DJ Drama]
We don't give a f*ck
Ayo
Turn it the f*ck 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 f*ck 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 f*ck 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
f*ck 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 f*ck 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 motherf*cking 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 motherf*cking thing in this city
Now, if that bothers you that I'm a cussing pastor, then get your motherf*ckin' 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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