Forever Cooking Lyrics

I been told y'all, none of y'all can fuck with me

It's the offering plate, man

Fuck wrong with you, listen, Ah Look

Forever cooking, 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 your face and the barrel meet

A Fiend trying to wrestle and die, sniff keys

At least ya ready, nostril where this tech nozzle gone Swiss 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 Mugging here Gz you can stare at the beam

Inherit a Wing, a tough rapper perished and screamed

Bought half your pub off your wife, I get a share of ya streams

Pussy, dead over Stares, look he Kathleen Peterson

Pair of forty four bulldogs, these PETA Guns

I make it rain, shells Easter fun

Pet Cemetery, that Cat buried wit the Snakes that he was breaded from

The dirts ready and the holes dug

You'll die a special death, blessed with this gold slug

Hold up, it's no love, just cold hearts and flown doves

Tyson on the roof with the pigeons

Ghillied with a illmatic, 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 fifty fly Curtis Jet

Murder death, Reaper Business

I own the LLC, your frail neck bleed when Keltec's squeeze

It's either, Hell jail free or cell bail fees

Incendiaries, once the four is fired shells melt trees

Im only here for Goats, I'm tier sniping

Never Fear He has a name

Put him 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 Maggie Green, Walking Dead

Nicknamed my colt revolver Hershel, this arm cost a leg

Smith and Wesson Governor your bosses dead, fucker

The dirts ready and the holes dug

You'll die a special death, blessed with this gold slug

Hold up, it's no love, just cold hearts and flown doves

Tyson on the roof with the pigeons