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[Chorus: Your Old Droog]

[Verse 1: Your Old Droog]

[Chorus: Your Old Droog]

[Verse 2: Westside Gunn]
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 n***a, n***a 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 n***as that'll come spray him for me
Sip on the duffle, '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
[Chorus: Your Old Droog]

[Outro: Sample]
"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"