Westside Gunn & Stove God Cooks – House Of GLORY Lyrics

HOUSE OF GLORY is Track 10 on Westside Gunn’s fifth studio album, AND THEN YOU PRAY FOR ME. House of Glory is a independent wrestling school based out of New York City — thus the promotional advertising placed in Times Square — and it’s logo can be seen on AND THEN YOU PRAY FOR ME’s official album cover as an additional pendant contrasted to Pray for Paris’s chains.

House Of GLORY Lyrics by Westside Gunn & Stove God Cooks

[Chorus: Stove God Cooks]
Why you mad? (Why you mad at me?)
Broke nigga, why you mad?
Chopper out the window, chopper out the window (Brrt, bah, bah, cha)

[Verse 1: Stove God Cooks]
You don’t know my expenses, I gotta buy bigger plates
And bigger scales and more bags, what you mad for?
We put them digi’ numbers on the dashboard
Took her to the top from the trap floor, I’m that raw
Had the feds at the front and the back door

[Chorus: Stove God Cooks]
Broke nigga, why you mad?
Why you mad?
Chopper out the window (Brrt, bah, bah, bah, brrt, bah)
Chopper out the window (Ah)

[Verse 2: Stove God Cooks]
Foggy glass pots and TEC beams
I’m Jesús with the recipe
I’m everything they dying to be
Half a million cash is ecstasy
Bullet holes in the Lexus seat (Brrt, bah, bah, bah)
He had some tricks up his Avirex sleeve
This shit is rec for me
Reach for my necklace and see (Woo)
One burner don’t work good, but we still cooking
One bad brick don’t stop no show, we still cookin’ (Still cookin’)
My grandaddy told me you’d get back what you put
My wrist say I get back way more
And I got twenty of ’em comin’ and they paid for
Fuck is we playin’ for? You know what you payin’ for
Fuck is we waitin’ for? What would I weigh ’em for?
It’s all good and if it ain’t all good, nigga, I’m all good
I’ll be—

[Verse 3: Westside Gunn]
Baby, why you leave me?
I only fucked her a hundred times, but I love you
Ayo, it was like 1989, I seen Loewe with the AK (Ah)
He said it was the first, it was a payday, told him peace
Seen a milli’, I walk across the street, he said, “Peace, Lord” (Peace, Lord)
He ’bout to meet Prada for a drink
Denim tears falling down my face, word to Mugula (Ah)
Cryin’ ’cause my shit that dope, they can’t fuck with us
Seen Chanel five hundred dollar plates, she in the county
She pulled up on Tiffany, shot out the Audi (Brrt, skrrt)
Another palm angel gained new wings (New wings)
Valentino down to my shoestrings (Shoestrings)
Me and Vera Wang, that’s my boo thing (That’s my boo thing)
She used to fuck Van Cleef
Went through, sprayed that nigga, shit, that’s on me (Brrt, brrt)
Came through, Fendi moccasins with the big F (Ah)
Fucked her one time, put Lorraine on that bitch neck (Woo)
Vogue mink cover, got the MAC while I’m posing
Your third eye closed, stupid nigga, I’m chosen
F.P. Journe ’bout as wet as the ocean (Woo)
Briefcase Goyard, snake on my loafers (Mm)
Nigga, I’m culture
Down in the Airs, Gucci gloves with the poker (Ah)
Hat Celine, house brunch, sipping Mimosas
Niggas like, “How this nigga house like the MOMA?”
Long live Virgil, got the chains on the Mona (Mmm)
Long live Michelle, when I come, scoot over
I’ll be—