Still Praying Lyrics by Westside Gunn
Can’t forget the family
Legendary
Griselda
Ayo, Chane’-ne’, head to toe, with the loaded AK (Grr)
Free Kutter, I just said I loved him on the JPay (Ah)
Bustdown’s bool, but I feel richer in the Plain Jane (Woo)
TEC-9’s bool but ain’t shit like the (Bang, bang)
Machine, get paid a bag just for the way he spaz
Niggas went viral (What happened?),they career spiral like a Brady pass(Ah)
The AP flash, it’s rare, shit only me and Tom Brady has (Oh, word?)
Bulletproof Mercedes glass, don’t make me spaz on you, nigga (Don’t make me spaz on you, pussy, ayo)
Louis millionaires on billionaires
Money counter shorts, we kill you there (Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom)
Spin your thoughts on the ceiling fan (Ah)
Tie your lil’ brother up for a kilogram
Two days later, sent back your hand (Mm)
Three days later, send the other hand
Glock with the rubber band (Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom)
Switch on it, shots get to stutterin’ like Duh Duh Man, then hopped in the Culinan (Grr)
Remember days when we was in the spot, we was pumpin’ tan (Bag up)
My fingertips blistered, gotta chop with my other hand (Woo, ayo)
.50 calibers, Ricky over trench, Bount Dracula (Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom)
Massacre, all you see was fire out the passenger (Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot)
Clappin’ ya, you better step your fashion up (Ah)
Celine mask spectacular
McQueen’s black and lavender (Uh-huh)
My king’s trapped in Attica (Woo)
Machine back, AR-15 clap and splatter ya
My team will whack the pastor up (Talk to these niggas, king, ayo)
Line your heads off (Woo), tiger Asics (Huh?), Bulgari spaceships (Ah)
Blow your head off, make it make sense (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
A thousand shell cases, your shit overrated (Hahaha)
Legit, four hundred dollar plates out of Copenhagen
It’s easy to make dough, but save it (Talk to ’em)
You show a nigga where you stashin’ at, then he supposed to take it
That nigga just came home, you know he over-anxious (Ah)
My bitch rockin’ Van Cleef on her anklets (Uh-huh)
Rapper get out of pocket, the bros gon’ spank him (Ayo, get that nigga)
Shit, yeah, two thousand bricks of flacka
God, watch my six, he up the Cannon or Draco, blocka
Kutter locked up, a million dollars cash for when he pop up
Gave bricks to my squad, I even called my shooter Waka (Woo)
So I’m gucci when I move (Ah)
Icy as a fuck, bitches was thinkin’ Gucci in the room (Hahaha)
And I’m most likely richer than most these dudes that’s in the room (Bag)
My lil’ head buster, he gon’ hit your kufi when he boom, nigga
Heh, yeah, he itchin’ to fire off (Uh-huh)
Word to Allah, you gon’ get your bean pied, that’s your final call, ah (Ah, boom-boom-boom-boom-boom)
I’m gon’ make you pay for what you did
You gon’ pray we never spin your block again (Grrr, ba-ba-ba)
How you get recliners in your Benz? (Woo)
I thought you knew that we was rich, bitch
Yeah, oh
All my cocaine whippers, yeah, oh
I came up off cookin’ yayo
I heard he dropped dead from the fent’
They shot him tryna hop the fence, hoo (Brr)
[Bridge: Stove God Cooks]
If it ain’t Griselda, it don’t mean nothin’ (Woo)
If it ain’t Michelle, it don’t mean nothin’
If it ain’t Fourth Rope, it don’t mean nothin’ (Woo)
If he ain’t die, it don’t mean nothin’ (Hahahaha)
Fifty million later, and we still prayin’ (We up)
We survived it all, and we still prayin’ (We good)
He lost his appeal, they got him still prayin’
Feel Virgil’s spirit in the Louis store, we still prayin’ (Woo)
My first brick, made me feel godly (Made me feel God)
My tenth brick, I told them broke niggas “Get behind me” (Stove)
My twenty-third brick, I turned everyone Siamese (Woo)
By my fifty-fifth pickup, nigga, I felt like Bronny (Woo)
Yeah, oh (Yeah, oh)
All my cocaine whippers, yeah, oh
I came up off cookin’ yayo
I heard he dropped dead off the fent’
They shot him jumpin’ out the whip (Grrr, ba-ba)
Fifty million later, and we still prayin’ (Woo, cha-ching)
We survived it all, and we still prayin’ (Mafia)
He lost his appeal, they got him still prayin’ (Yeah, gang, what else?)
Feel Virgil’s spirit in the Louis store, we still prayin’ (Woo)
My dance moves gettin’ tricky (TDM), seem like my custos gettin’ picky (Titi)
Killers in the Drug Zone gettin’ wicked (My youngins)
Drum on the Minnie Riperton (Rah), big micro in the miniature (Achy-breaky)
Mix the Rick with Balenci’ (Yeah), stick on me like I’m picky (Stick dance)
Pop up O.T. in Livingston (County), brick on me, I’m from Michigan (Detroit, Eastside)
Fresh prince of the bale with that Uncle Phil and Auntie Vivian (Yeah)
Ain’t no smilin’ and gigglin’ (At all), free the guys stuck on that island with Gilligan
Jammin’ (Free the gargoyles), 30 A.M., ain’t talkin’ antimeridian, slammin’ (Slap box)
Yerkies and tens in the Upper Peninsula
Lettin’ girlie work her hand, she got a touch of dementia (That’s a taste test)
I’m not a rap star, I’m a drug czar (Kingpin), somewhat of a emperor (Yeah)
On Hell Block (Yeah), me and Young Lord where it’s blisterin’ temperatures (6-4 like Nintendo, what else?)
Twenty piece ago, when I first rocked that piece of blow (Ah)
I hand stretched it like Papa John pizza dough
How can y’all be so broke, when I monetize legal dope?
Then I, declined that meetin’ with Donald, I don’t even vote
Rock sizzled on the black spoon, turned my kitchen to a classroom
My crib into a stash room, a zip into half moon
Play Robert Glasper, jazz tunes
Y’all let the beef age like it’s wagyu
But, you get it done that day when you in that loop, uh
Gold chains and tracksuits, bulletproof glass coupe
The statute of limitations’ll never pass with what we…
Nah, I did what I had to, this shit done went past truce
This not your ordinary rap group, Griselda, nigga (Ah)
Handle on the pot, jigglin’
It’s ninety in this bitch, but with this time piece on my wrist, I’m shiverin’
My road to glory was time-sensitive
Bust a Presi’, then got rid of it (Tick-tock, tick-tock)
Sixty carat Pyrex, I’m different (I’m Butch’)
And fuck rap, ’cause I’m livin it
And fuck that, it say a lot about y’all if you not feelin’ it
I been in the top ten of it, a pen you can drop killers with
A rap sheet you can eat off, so y’all’s, let’s not mention it, gang (Gangsta Grillz)
Griselda is forever
American rapper and executive