Westside Gunn ft. A$AP Rocky, Stove God Cooks - Shootouts In Soho Lyrics

Ayo

Ayo, my chef been whippin' for three days straight
Fiends lined up for four houses, damn, no shake
What the fuck is that Celine on your face? No case
Drug deals easy, more booze is lookin' like space
Jean Paul Gaultier, see-through Jamaican tank top
Hopped out the two-tone, Lord, made the bank stop
Love is with no strings, please
Doubt me if you need five or better
Baby, not in a Brianna sweater
Ayo, the triple beam love us (ah, ah)
Flip hit a stem and he loved it (ah, ah)
Flip hit a stem like a trumpet (grrah, grrah, grrah)
He fell out his wheelchair, now I wonder (woo)
Ayo, who rockin' the road from head to toe?
If you pull it out, you better blow
He might got it, you never know, style blow
Out a linger gown, chop his fingers down, you broke (ah)
It's Randy Savage on coke, ayo, ayo

I might drop a lil' drugs just to get a lil' buzz
Growin' up, I had to struggle, know what come with the buzz (yeah)
I might've fucked a few girls, just to get me some love
In my day, you learn the hard way, what gullible was
I'm like, you took a few Ls, won a few dubs
What a wonderful world (uh), it's no wonder we thugs
Mmp, bottle empty (bah), I got means, I got plenty (bah)
I got lean on my kidneys, I wear jeans that don't fit me (damn)
I feel free as my willy, pockets fat as a whales
See, as a kid they tried to scare me, like them reefers was gon' kill me (real)
Who else you know got smoked like a chimney?
Chimney smokin', ain't no hit
Take your chains off, you're already chainsmokin'
Fiendin' for a vic, fiendin' for a sick flow
Mama seen to the stove, biscuit, chicken box, chicken pox or not?
Dirty socks with the hole by the big toe (grrah)
This is everythin' I hoped for, wished for, and more (bitch)
All I ever wanted was a Benzo', bimbo (oh)
Jim stones and a red Pelle', like I'm Jim Jones
Bought a new chain, left it on my dresser box, where it's locked
Pulled up in some dead stocks, dress socks, wearin' crocs
Dressed in fox, bearin' thots, steppin' out, drippin', not sweatin'
Like a pair of Docs, check it, now
Chains like I'm Mister T, chains like I'm Mister T
Chains like I'm Mister T (yeah, yeah, yeah)
Said chains like I'm Mister T, chains like I'm Mister T (skrrt, ah)
Chains like I'm Mister T (yeah, yeah, yeah)

I can't answer the phone right now, I'm cookin' dope
I can't talk to you right now, bitch, I'm cookin' dope
Thirty-six O's in a kilo, you know
Dolphins in the pot, Dan Marino, you know
I can't talk to you right now, baby, I'm cookin' dope

Uh, second floor apartment, seventeen with the burners all high
Get your hands hot
Got it for the low, but the drought price high
All white clouds, tell me Virgil in the sky
My bitch like, "Is it Ablo or Abloh? ", I don't know
I know coke, I know Balenciaga coats
I know lighter flames under bent spoons, black smoke
Backstroke through the blood money and the crack smoke
Can't breathe, cryin', then them tears look like snowflakes on the jeans
That's perfect for me 'cause I bring snow through every season (woo)
They don't love you no more (they don't love you no more)
Once the feds come, they don't love you no more (they don't love you no more)
They don't love you no more (they don't love you no more)
Once the money gone they don't love you no more (they don't love you no more)
Woo, ha

Al Woo hit the stem and he loved it
High out his mind, cooked a whole brick