PastorDAVE - Ali Bomaye(Freestyle) lyrics

[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