Westside Gunn, Your Old Droog - Vivian at the Art Basel lyrics
YOD [Brooklyn, New York]
[Westside Gunn, Your Old Droog - Vivian at the Art Basel lyrics]
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 nigga, nigga I'm me
Chefs had the apron 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 coke 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 niggas that'll
Come spray him for me sip on the duffle
'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
"And with everything that's going on, man
Even recently having cats get fucking shot
You ever say: maybe I should just go
Into plumbing or be electrician? Like
Isn't this i did well actually, I
I'm actually a certified
Like, you know, I was in jail
I used to do your little trades
I was like a little certified electrician
I used to do the wiring and stuff right
Little stuff like that
But that ain't my thing man
My hands is, you know
They not for that type of thing
My hands is for caressing ladies
And you know what I'm saying
Doing lucrative things
Yeah, counting money, you know
Gripping the steering wheel, you know
That's what these hands is for, baby
Opening the keys to my new mansion
Things of that nature
That's these hands is for
You know what I'm saying
Or typing in my new iPhone to
Write that new next wave"
Fiend said he'd take it still wet
Give me an eight
Don't compare me to no nigga, nigga I'm me
Chefs had the apron 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 coke 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 niggas that'll
Come spray him for me sip on the duffle
'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
"And with everything that's going on, man
Even recently having cats get fucking shot
You ever say: maybe I should just go
Into plumbing or be electrician? Like
Isn't this i did well actually, I
I'm actually a certified
Like, you know, I was in jail
I used to do your little trades
I was like a little certified electrician
I used to do the wiring and stuff right
Little stuff like that
But that ain't my thing man
My hands is, you know
They not for that type of thing
My hands is for caressing ladies
And you know what I'm saying
Doing lucrative things
Yeah, counting money, you know
Gripping the steering wheel, you know
That's what these hands is for, baby
Opening the keys to my new mansion
Things of that nature
That's these hands is for
You know what I'm saying
Or typing in my new iPhone to
Write that new next wave"