Letras Derrick Boleman - Westside Gunn

Derrick Boleman

We don’t give a fuck\nAyo\nTurn it the fuck up, yeah (Yeah)\nAyo, told the fiends, it’s dryin', just hang tight (Just hang tight)\nHair flow, Drake, when the window tinted, 'til you save Mike\nYou still pushin' twenty-one (You still pushin' you twenty-one)\nHow you know it’s the twenty-one, dawg?\n'Cause Rolls Royce changed it’s headlights (Uh-huh)\nYou know how dope it is, you niggas couldn’t imagine (Ah)\nYour favorite nigga, favorite nigga, you can ask him\nSkipped the Grammys two years straight to watch wrestling (Yeah)\nBack to back what’s brackin? (Skrrt)\nDid two-hundred to the plug, what’s love?\nPour twenty, got twenty on the front coupe, criss-cross\nGot the trunk in the front\nNigga had a point, put him in his 'stache (Boom)\nWhole leg fell off, it went to lunch\nHad to get the five-eighty tinted\nMind ya business, we got drug dealers in here, buying up and now sinnin' (Ah)\nCoke smellin' up the whole loft (Turn it the fuck up, ah, yeah)\nI rock a Cold War (Yeah), for a ten-o'clock, we had roll call (Woo)\nOne-four-eighty-one-zero-five-five, shoot up the whole mall (Brr)\nLeft his brains and gold ore (Brr)\nAyo, rest in peace Virgil, rest in peace Dolph\nCome a dollar short, rest in peace your moms\nI’m on the graveyard shift, crackin' my jaw, had visions\nCasablanca, my silk addictions\nDouble-Fs to bolster my bridges, the illest nigga (Turn it the fuck up, yeah)\nAllah’s my witness, forgave the sinners (Yeah), wash my pain away with\nSteak forty-eight dinners, tryna wake the eight figures (Ah)\nI hate niggas\nAh, I went Bobby on the digital\nI got the W, I got a rental four (Uh)\nHow many bricks? Fourty-four like Derrick Coleman with the Sixers\nWho sick as us? Who sick as Stove?\nStockton with the pick and roll\nMy young boy hop out shootin', do you niggas wrong (Yeah)\nRick James with the powder, kilo wrappers on the counter\nFuck what they pay, I don’t really care about they numbers\nWhat you gon' charge us if I buy like a thousand of 'em?\nTwo-tone Bentley continental\nIs you really the plug or you the middle?\nHe blew trial, he was prayin' for acquittal\nThe ear to the stove, I’m the prince, I’m the symbol\nTake that other door off, we gon' fit 'em all\nIs it fire or is it fentanyl? (Yeah)\nHe say it don’t matter, long as we get it off\nAnd when they overdose, it make 'em get it more\nBut don’t say nothin', we got the whole thing jumpin'\nMargiela crochet bucket, cocaine bubblin'\nMama loved me, the block fed me\nWrist deep in the pot, I cook lefty\nCome test me, come test me\nI got the million dollar recipe (Yeah), come test me (Yeah)\nCome test me\nI got everything we payed for and an extra key\nCome test me\nSo much water whipped, I bought a jetski\nCome test me\nMama loved me, the block fed me\nWrist deep in the pot, I cook lefty\nTurn it the fuck up, yeah (Yeah)\nWell, bitch, let me tell you something, you must be a bitch\nNow, you a pastor incursion\nBe aware of problems, we are definitely living in our last day\nYes, I cuss\nI’m the cussing pastor\nWhile you’re motherfucking pastor ain’t doin' a goddamn thing\nI’m the cussing pastor that used my platform to raise six-thousand dollars for\nthis mother who was going through a plight\nWhile these other ignorant-ass, non-functioning ass pastors wasn’t doing a\nmotherfucking thing in this city\nNow, if that bothers you, that I’m a cussing pastor, then get your\nmotherfuckin' ass off plain and damn self\nSee, I don’t play, it’s about being real, it’s about the truth\nAnd I don’t give a damn what none of you bitches says\nAnd none of you ho-ass niggas either\nIt’s about telling the truth just like it is\nSo, bitch, bye, I’ma, I’ma take you off so you don’t have to worry about it\nSee, y’all be worried about the wrong thing\n«You curse,» yes, I curse, hell, Jesus probably cursed\nPlain and damn simple\nSee, I don’t play