[Verse 1: Pastor Dave]
Pastor Dave, on the f**ing track
Run up in your crib, all i see is black
Let the AK rip, all i see is flash
Empty the f**ing clip, in your f**ing back
All i hear is shell casings hitting the ground
Grab all your stacks double back for another round
Do not f** with me, I'm a different entity
I've seen sh** that if you seen it you'd change your identity
My right will knock your teeth out, call it f**ing dentistry
You cats shaking shivering p**y's from my intensity
Pastor Dave gone give these thirst hoes some holy water, makes them only smarter
[Verse 4: Pastor Dave]
I rip up every track ill ever f**ing touch
I'll hit you with an uppercut that'll rupture your f**ing gut
I'll roll up on you and your team like a f**ing dutch
Empty the clip, pull off and hit the motherf**ing clutch
Pull up clean to my mommas house without a f**ing smudge
And if you somehow survived you'd be holding a f**ing grudge
Hoping around on one foot without your motherf**ing crutch
You'd come at me, put a bullet in you leave you dieing in the mud
Dave ain't no one to f** with
Grew up with some f** kids
f**ed around with f** kids
Put them in the buckets
That dude still ain't nothing
That dude is still bluffing
He ain't about that gunning
He's about that running
Nah I can't f** with him he gets beer muscles when he drinks
He's as fake as the b**hes that take pictures on the bathroom sink
I'm trying to make these fake motherf**ers extinct
But its hard when they all look the same, they ain't distinct
Maybe its the way they walk or maybe its they stink
It's hard to tell the difference like all 90 billion chinks
But I'm trying to do my best to leave all these motherf**ers pink
And if you say you'll survive that's a motherf**ing jinx
I'm running round town with a shotty like John Gotti
Pull up to your party with an empty bottle of Bacardi
Put a buckshot into Sparky, that's your nice little doggy
You start getting co*ky, and started speaking malarkey
I said shut the f** up before I hit you with the bu*t of my gun
You f**ed with me, the sh**s up you son of gun
I don't give a f** if hiccups were the sound of my gun
The sound of you peeing would be the sound of your red rum, b**h