BRIKOLAI VOLKOFF Lyrics by Westside Gunn
(Feat. Stove God Cooks)
Rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah (Grrt), rrah (La música de Harry ***)
Yeah, yeah (Grrt, grrt)
***’ boogeyman, ***
Rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah (Grrt)
Rrah, rrah, rrah (Greatest curator of all time, ***), rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah (Grrt, Super FlyGod)
Ayo, call me God, for sure
I’m from the East side where we shoot *** (Rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah, rrah)
If he gotta go, he gotta go
In a pot deep, elbows touchin’
[?] for the last rock, now you’re on crutches (Ah)
’26 GT, I did a hundred just to wake it up (Skrrt)
Mayo jars had the yay twirlin’, I had to shake it up (Wha, ha-ha-ha-ha)
You broke, you *** (Woo)
If they ask you if I’m still cookin’, tell ’em
“You broke, you ***” (Tell ’em, don’t tell ’em nothin’)
If they ask you if I’m still cookin’, tell ’em (Woo, no, no, no, no)
“You fake, you ***” (Brrt, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no)
If they ask you if I’m still cookin’, tell ’em no (Woo)
But I can get it to you whole, thirty-six Oz
If you touch the hem of the Louis coat
***, you owe me
(Woo, ***, you owe me, woo)
If they ask you who run ***, you better have it set up (You better said me)
Go to war wi— You better have your bread up (Brrt, bap, bap, bap)
*** around and get wet up (Brrt, bap, bow)
Put so much money on your top, ‘Pac can’t help you keep your ***’ head up (Ha-ha-ha-ha)
Amalfi Coast in the big row
We was tryin’ to buy 30’s, said I only got ten on me (I did, yeah)
Believed it when they said they didn’t owe me (Woo)
Why would I be talkin’ to them niggas? I was droppin’ work on they big homie (Woo)
Half an ounce in the water just to test it (Keep goin’)
Courtside, powder on the triple lashes (Keep goin’)
Footprints on a brick, I ain’t lost a step
All these killer rappers, I might put ’em together and wear ’em to the Met (Ah, huh, Stove)
You broke (Brrt), you *** (Bap, bap, bap, woo)
If they ask you if I’m still cookin’, tell ’em
“You broke, you ***” (Tell ’em, don’t tell ’em nothin’)
If they ask you if I’m still cookin’, tell ’em (Woo, no, no, no, no)
“You fake, you ***” (Brrt, bap, bap)
If they ask you if I’m still cookin’, tell ’em no (Woo)
But I can get it to you whole (Get it), thirty-six Oz
If you touch the hem of the Louis coat
***, you owe me (Woo)
***, I’m Luther Vandross with a brick
***’s hundred on my neck
***’s wrong with these niggas? Griselda (Griselda)
I got a cross on my stomach from that random old ***
Niggas tryna *** me, what the *** I’m doing?
Tryna get to it, got me hit in the leg
Tryna take me out, make yo’ *** ass mad
One for the head of a chest in the leg
Baby girl wanna *** the best, that’s your bae
Talkin’ to my muthafuckin’ ***, get you hit
Forty-five slugs comin’ out the chamber quick
I should’ve told you now that you don’t want no beef
Solitary side, holla *** in the streets
When you play a .9, ***, you gon’ feel the heat
Thirty ***’ rounds as I put ’em straight to sleep
F-L-I-P, ***, if you know the name
OG Eastside Flip, boy, I’ll blow your, blow your brain