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letra de vivian at the art basel - westside gunn

[chorus: your old droog]
life is hard no doubt
so there’s a few things i’ll make sure i do before i go out
kiss my mom on the cheek
because this one kid didn’t get to make it home last week (rest in peace)
then some girls got trampled
then a cop k!lled a man just to make an example
so before i take a stroll to creep
i pray the lord my soul to keep

[verse 1: your old droog]
the wicked devil’s stricken souls
a lot of these rappers are disguised ball players and actors, picking roles
you’re going to own a mansion, the rawest crib you’ve seen
where tv screen come out the ceiling, that’s a moving screen
trying not to catch a charge
smokin’ in some restaurant garage with my entourage
though the cost of me bein a star is washed
when i jet, i’ma get a month long marathon montage
squad should call me sarge
bunch of extra p understudies, they want to be large
want to drive these foreign cars, mean that literally
when i say they want to get out of dodge, listen
dear god, can i get a fresh pair of earpods to b-mp this one joint by y.o.d and the flygod?
throw it on my ipod, with ample gigabytes
first time we perform this at a gig they might
lose their minds, start a mosh pit
security will try to squash it
touch a fan’s hand, he’ll never wash it
only way you’ll ever reach and that’s boss sh-t
cantankerous, the anne frank of this, live from auschwitz
memories makin’ me nauseous
dun made it out the harshest of hardships

[verse 2: westside gunn]
ayo, i’m lookin’ like vivian blake
fiend said he’d take it still wet, give me an eight
don’t compare me to no n-gg-, n-gg- i’m me
chefs had the apr-n on bakin’ a key
i had to be [?]
givenchy tote with the rottweiler hair
fnh57 tucked in the black [?]
red balenciaga with the black strings
gucci been dead since tom ford left
still smell the blood on gianni’s doorsteps
i hope they fade away
on my third gold bottle to take the pain away
sell c-ke for a cavalli coat
residue on the black pusha t’s for steppin’ on the dope
no malice said pray for me
i got some little n-gg-s that’ll come spray him for me
sip on the [?] ’bout to bust out on sunset
bossa nova lunch, gave the brick a cobra clutch
get you wacked for a [?]
all red ozweegos, at the art basel, black desert eagle

- westside gunn

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