gripz - forever cooking lyrics
yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
uh, okay
i been told y’all, none of y’all can f+ck with me
it’s the offering plate, man
f+ck wrong with you
listen, ah look
forever cookin’ there’s levels and gz can’t be reached, buried deep
y’all prairie sheep, can’t compare to me prepared for beef
you ever cross eye you’ll be staring at the nose
that’s when ya face and the barrel meet
a fiend tryna’ wrestle and die
sniff keys
at least ya rеady, nostril where this tek nozzlе gone swizz cheese
and the clip greased
you not stable on this turf, so switch cleats
don’t put no dirt on that body, let that ditch breathe
environmentalist, protecting the green
you mean muggin’ here gz you can stare at the beam
inherit a wing
a tough rapper perished and screamed
bought have ya pub off ya wife, i get a share of ya streams
p+ssy
dead over stares, look he kathleen peterson
pair of 44 bulldogs, these peta guns
i make it rain sh+lls, easter fun
pet cemetery, that cat buried wit the snakes that he was breeded from
the dirts ready and the holes dug
holes dug
you’ll die a special death, blessed wit this gold slug
hold up
it’s no love, just cold hearts and flown doves
flown doves
tyson on the roof wit the pigeons
ghillied wit a ill matic, breathing a snipers breath
look right to left, i calculate the windage on the sight and check
vegetation round the barrett minimize the glint the sun might reflect
i mark he’s gone, 50 fly, curtis jet
murder death, reaper business
i own the llc
ya frail neck bleed when keltec’s squeeze
it’s either
h+ll jail free, or cell bail fees
incendiaries
once the four is fired sh+lls melt trees
im only here for goats, i’m tier snipin’
never fear he has a name
put em’ in the ring, he not the real tyson
pigeons in the coupe, i need a new pet, im breed eye’n
peak timing
went deep sea diving and caught a sea lion
if dogs get feds, then dogs get fed
that jit a never pull the mag he green, walking dead
nicknamed my colt revolver hershel, this arm cost a leg
smith and wesson governor ya bosses dead, f+ka’
the dirts ready and the holes dug
holes dug
you’ll die a special death, blessed wit this gold slug
hold up
it’s no love, just cold hearts and flown doves
flown doves
tyson on the roof wit the pigeons
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