Album on Still Praying

Track 12 on Still Praying
Featuring

Stove God Cooks, Benny the Butcher & 2 more
Still Praying Lyrics
[Intro: DJ Drama]
Can’t forget the family
Legendary

[Verse 1: Westside Gunn & Conway the Machine]
Ayo, Chane’-ne’, head to toe, with the loaded AK (Grr)
Free Kutter, I just said I loved him on the JPay (Ah)
Bustdown spoon but off a Richard and the plain jane
Tec-9’s boom 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 (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
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
Dracula, massacure, 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), target Asics, Bulgari spaceships
Blow your head off, make it make sense (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Without shell cases
This shit overrated, legit
Four hunnid dollar plates out of Copenhagen
See upcoming rap shows

[Verse 2: Conway the Machine]
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
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 shoota Waka so I’m gucci when I move
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 coofy when he boom, nigga
Yeah, he itchin’ to fire off
Word to Allah, you gon’ get your bean pied, that’s your final call, ah (Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom)

[Verse 3: Stove God Cooks]
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

[Chorus: Stove God Cooks]
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

[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)

[Refrain: Stove God Cooks]
Fifty million later, and we still prayin’ (We up)
We survived it all, and we still prayin’ (Good)
He lost his appeal, they got him still prayin’
Feel Virgil’s spirit in the Louis store, we still prayin’ (Woo)

[Verse 4: Stove God Cooks]
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)

[Chorus: Stove God Cooks]
Yeah, oh (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 jumpin’ out the whip (Grrr, ba-ba)

[Refrain: Stove God Cooks & Boldy James]
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 up?)
Feel Virgil’s spirit in the Louis store, we still prayin’ (Woo)

[Verse 5: Boldy James]
My dance moves gettin’ tricky ([TDM?]), seem like my custos gettin’ picky (Tick-tick)
Killers in the drug zone gettin’ wicked (My youngins)
Drum on the Minnie Riperton (Rah), big micro in the miniature (Achy-braky)
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 bill’
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 tzar (Kingpin), somewhat of a emperor (Yeah)
On Hellblock (Yeah), me and young [?] where it’s blisterin’ temperatures (6-4 like Nintendo, what else?)

[Verse 6: Benny The Butcher]
Twenty piece ago, when I first rocked that piece of blow (Ah)
I hand stretched it like Papa Johns 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 statue of limitations, it’ll never pass them [?]
Nah, I did what I had to
This shit done went past truths
This not your ordinary 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, game (Gangsta Grillz)

[Outro: DJ Drama]
Griselda is forever