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griselda – the old groove lyrics

[verse 1: westside gunn]
ayo, where i’m from, these n-gga shoot b-tches and kids (brr, boom, boom, boom, boom)
megabus upstairs, i had it taped to my ribs (ah)
stupid motherf-cker ain’t find a brick in the fridge
only got 10k, f-ck that, we goin’ back, lord
(man, f-ck that, man, we goin’ back, i told you the f-ckin’ brick was in the fridge, yo)
10k, f-ck that, we goin’ back, lord (what’s up, baby? stroller)
pineapple urus, cocaine purest (ah)
trench on, sh-t only came out in europe (ah)
my shooter on syrup (grr)
kicks i got on, you never heard of (uh-uh)
my puerto rican b-tch from la perla
rub the c0ke on my gums, that sh-t was magnifique (ah)
hugged the plug, told him same time next week
jewelry fresh, the b-tches all on my neck (ah)
in the guggenheim, i had the fold-up tec (grr)
fendi headband, i didn’t break a sweat (uh-uh)
same n-gga had vicky eatin’ out lavette (woo)
there’s genovese all over (ah)
wallabees cobra, graveyard shift motorolas (brr)
brick after brick after brick, lord, game over (ah)
ike just came home for a second time (second time)
could’ve f-cked your b-tch, i told her never mind (told her never mind)
my team vicious, walk, talk, eat different (ah)
got a whole brick, i had to remix it (remix)
sh-t look like jermaine dupri whipped it (whip)
talk caesar, seasick, them bullets keep hittin’ (grr)
toss the f&n like a flea-fl!cker (boom, boom, boom, boom)

[verse 2: conway the machine]
preach, n-gga, they gettin’ money while we richer
key flippers, amiri jeans, louis v slippers
out of town og shippers to the weed pitchers
you don’t ever squeeze your bl!cker and that’s where we differ (we ain’t the same, n-ggas)
i don’t hesitate to bust my chrome
bar for bar, can’t no n-gga touch my zone
n-ggas know what the f-ck i’m on
playin’ spades in the county and n-ggas know not to touch my phone, yeah (don’t touch my phone)
my plug a giant in new york, he got them things in (ah)
send me thirteen to cleveland, like the g-men (hahaha)
griselda the championship team, we got the rings in (yeah)
mad as f-ck, my shooter got deported back to kingston (it’s f-cked up)
your pockets not deep enough, do not beef with us
how can we be touched? you n-ggas don’t got reach enough
you not street enough, i will come through your block and i street sweep it up (brr)
griselda, you n-ggas cannot eat with us, yeah
that’s something that i cannot preach enough (yeah)
40 on me, homie, i keep it tucked (hah)
i’ma keep it a buck (yeah)
if you a f-ck n-gga, do not speak to us
we got flee with us
thirty shot glocks’ll heat sh-t up (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
machine

[verse 3: benny the butcher]
mind your business, n-gga, tuck your paper (tuck that)
when it’s on, my shooter teflon a couple layers
every day i put on gold like a f-ckin’ laker (f-ckin’ laker)
out west pushin’ them foreign sh-ts up labrea (skrrt)
you know the outcome when your pedigree is martin, malcolm
don’t ‘preciate you, and when you dead, they study all your albums
i was young and sonnin’ them n-ggas that you call a thousand (them n-ggas?)
i was hustlin’, frontin’ them old n-ggas all them ounces (where my money at?)
quarter brick under my mattress and my father found it (true story)
wanted me out, and all i did is make him call it down here (come get this)
i just put my d-ck in her mouth, you bought that ho louboutins (f-ck you doin’?)
i caught a bomb in the a, but don’t play for the falcons (nah)
ain’t no linkin’ back with n-ggas i had a fallin’ out with (f-ck ’em)
they only start that sh-t with you so they can talk about it (talk about it)
it’s cool, and we can take it far as y’all allow it (what’s poppin’?)
i spin through, your gucci hoodie gon’ have chalk around it (brr)
yeah, nah, i can’t forget them traps that i had hostage (had hostage)
walkin’ ’round with your re-up in my back pocket (hahahaha)
i use your baby mama for a stash option
i couldn’t trust that b-tch, so she was my last option
uh, every time we drop, we gave h-ll to n-ggas (gave h-ll to n-ggas)
so they top five got all three griselda members
dope spot, a bunch of empty sh-lls was in it
how i make that brick jump? i had to put my elbow in it
let’s go

[interlude: novel]
i ain’t playin’ no games (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
i said this is, my n-gga, this is my life, oh, sh-t (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)
i said listen, listen (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh)

[verse 4: novel]
never had a jump shot, but had a cold pen
papa was an old pimp that used to smoke slims, uh
i ain’t the one for the tusslin’
quick to tell a b-tch n-gga, “do something, then”
brown timbs with the polo fleece, uh
youngins pushin’ packs, control those streets
and po-po’ll flash the lights tryna find these n-ggas
them cocaine ’80s turned me into a grimy n-gga, ooh
it’s all about the yams
mama always told me, “pay your uncle sam”
single mother, always had us on the lam
livin’ in them shelters, spaghetti and hot spam, godd-mn
pots down, catch the bus to campton
on my way to sunday service with my n-ggas lampin’
mrs. harris used to make a mean catfish
we was teens, used to watch the fiends backflip
talkin’ to themselves, sellin’ they love
that crack rock is a h-ll of a drug
in the stash spot, never sell out your plug
anyone can get shot and k!lled, so i had to get out for real

[outro: novel]
’cause i’m in another zone
you know the ghetto’s home
you know the ghetto’s home
you know the ghetto’s home
i’m in another zone
you know the ghetto’s home
you know the ghetto’s home
you know the ghetto’s home
’cause i’m in another zone
you know the ghetto’s home
you know the ghetto’s home
you know the ghetto’s home
i’m in another zone
you know the ghetto’s home
you know the ghetto’s home
you know the ghetto’s home

- griselda lyrics

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