Westside Gunn, DJ Drama & Stove God Cooks – 1989 Lyrics

1989 Lyrics by Westside Gunn, DJ Drama & Stove God Cooks

[Intro: DJ Drama]
Every other city we go
Every other ghetto
No matter where I go
I see the same foes

[Verse 1: Westside Gunn]
Ayo, we can meet at Carbone, meet me at the Aria
Hundred round Glock on me (Gangsta), look wrong, I’m poppin’ you (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Three piece Salvatore, lookin’ like the Mafia
Wrist cost twenty bricks, neck like a hockey puck
Hopped out the Maybach (Skrrt), then did a walk-up (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Every bad bitch in my city, I done fucked ’em (Ah)
I’m the flyest you done ever seen, nigga, fuck you
Body bag on top of body bag, nigga, Russia (Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot)
Hustler in my veins, learnеd the game from Uncle Bacon (Ah)
Cеntral Park legend, cheffin’ in Versace aprons (Whip)
Rest in peace Dip, lil’ bitch, I’m the shit (Ah)
Rest in peace Munch, havin’ gecko for lunch (Grr)
Rest in peace Pete, park the Benz in the street (Skrrt)
Rest in peace Boo, got shooters on the roof (Grr)
Rest in peace Joe, richest nigga in the low (Ah)
Bricks got hit, then stamped on it off the boat (Mmm)
I heard them niggas tellin’, my niggas present
Hit his ass with a buckshot (Boom, boom, boom), that nigga yellin’
Smilin’ on my mugshot (Mmm), two-time felon
Bullets went clean through (Boom, boom, boom), now we stretchin’

[Chorus: Stove God Cooks]
One thousand (One thousand)
One thousand (One thousand)
Thirty-six ounces, I turned up in public housing
Thirty-six ounces, rich in public housing

[Post-Chorus: Stove God Cooks]
I might shoot the Rolls-Royce through your block (I might shoot the Rolls through your block)
I might shoot the Maybach through your block (I might shoot the Maybach through your block, Gangsta)
I might have young boy come— fuck it (Brrt, baow, baow)

[Verse 2: Stove God Cooks]
One thousand (Brrt, baow, baow, baow, baow, woo)
Uh, one thousand (One thousand)
Smilin’ on the fed cameras (On the fed cameras)
Rest in peace Will, we still smilin’ at the fed cameras
Thirty-six ounces (Woo)
Had my mama calling my phone like (Woo)
“This shit gotta stop one day” (Woo)
If ain’t no switch on it, that ain’t gunplay (Brr, baow, baow, baow, baow)
I might drop a hundred bricks on your block (A hundred)
I might have a hundred shooters on your block
You know me and my niggas really rich, do you not?

[Chorus: Stove God Cooks]
One thousand (One thousand)
One thousand
Thirty-six ounces, I turned up in public housing (I turned it up)
Thirty-six ounces, bricks in public housing (I turned it up)
[Post-Chorus: Stove God Cooks]
I might shoot the Rolls-Royce through your block (Keep goin’)
I might shoot the Maybach through your block (Real shit)
I might have young boy come— fuck it (Brrt, baow, baow, baow)
Say a prayer for me, Stove

[Outro: DJ Drama]
Gangsta Grizills
“And Then You Pray For Me”
Lord knows I need it
Demons on my shoulders
Demons in the streets
Demons in my sheets
None of y’all can stop godbody
Trials and tribulations only make me stronger
We built for this
Nigga, we built it
Been preaching to the streets forever
Legendary