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Vivian at the Art Basel (feat. Your Old Droog)

de Westside Gunn

Life is hard no doubt
So there's a few things I'll make sure I do before I go out
Kiss my mom on the cheek
Because this one kid didn't get to make it home last week (rest in peace)
Then some girls got trampled
Then a cop killed a man just to make an example
So before I take a stroll to creep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep

The wicked Devil's stricken souls
A lot of these rappers are disguised ball players and actors, picking roles
You're going to own a mansion, the rawest crib you've seen
Where TV screen come out the ceiling, that's a moving screen
Trying not to catch a charge
Smokin' in some restaurant garage with my entourage
Though the cost of me bein a star is washed
When I jet, I'ma get a month long marathon montage
Squad should call me sarge
Bunch of Extra P understudies, they want to be large
Want to drive these foreign cars, mean that literally
When I say they want to get out of Dodge, listen
Dear God, can I get a fresh pair of earpods to bump this one joint by YOD and the Flygod?
Throw it on my iPod, with ample gigabytes
First time we perform this at a gig they might
Lose their minds, start a mosh pit
Security will try to squash it
Touch a fan's hand, he'll never wash it
Only way you'll ever reach and that's boss shit
Cantankerous, the Anne Frank of this, live from Auschwitz
Memories makin' me nauseous
Dun made it out the harshest of hardships

Life is hard no doubt
So there's a few things I'll make sure I do before I go out
Kiss my mom on the cheek
Because this one kid didn't get to make it home last week (rest in peace)
Then some girls got trampled
Then a cop killed a man just to make an example
So before I take a stroll to creep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep

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 [?] '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

Life is hard no doubt
So there's a few things I'll make sure I do before I go out
Kiss my mom on the cheek
Because this one kid didn't get to make it home last week (rest in peace)
Then some girls got trampled
Then a cop killed a man just to make an example
So before I take a stroll to creep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep

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

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