Dear Chief Keef by Kai Davis Lyrics
Dear Chief Keef
I heard through the grapevine that you don't like fuck-niggas
Mister Keef
I heard you don't like sneak dissas
I also heard you don't like stalking-ass bitches
And I could go on and on and on about all the things that you don't like
But Señor Keef
What do you like?
I can imagine you like the finer things
I can tell by your music videos
You got Gucci belts
Fendi belts
Louis belts
A lotta belts
Not a lotta shirts
Why don't you like shirts, Sergeant Keef?
I'm 300% sure you can afford them
You got bands boy, in your pants boy
You got 'Raris and Rovers
And apparently these hoes love Chief Sosa
But how can you even enjoy the tender caress of a young maiden
When you can't even brush against her
Without your ashy nipples igniting a fire in her baby hairs?
What do you like, Doctor Keef?
Do you like the sensation of a breeze coursing its way through your baby dreads?
Do you like the gentle chafing of house arrest bracelets?
The feel of a dozen half-naked men bumping into you
Shouting 'Oh brah' like a sweet serenade
Grunting and fingering AKs in your grandma's basement
I mean, who wouldn't like that?
Do you like-
Do you like the sensation of your lips cracking against the brutality of the Chicago wind?
Because
It looks like you do
And by your lyrics I can tell that you don't like consonants
"These bitches love Sosa, O end or no-"
So you must like vowels, right?
Right?
Father Keef!
Why must there be so much negativity in your life?
Too many negations and not enough affirmations
Hugging the block, but never hugging your parents
Who hurt you?
Who
Hurt
You?
You're bottling up your emotions along with that codeine and Sprite
You're cutting and bagging your feelings like that yayo
Your face is probably just ashy from a lack of tears
Let those tears fall, Papa Keef
Let those tears inundate your grandma's basement
Wash away those indictments
Those Gucci belts
Those thirsty thotties
And cry, Rabbi Keef
Cry until you cannot cry anymore
And when you are through
Put your hand to your chest and feel your heartbeat
Bang-bang
Bang-bang
Bang-bang
And let everything that you don't like go
And if you can't do that
Well
That's that shit
I don't like
I heard through the grapevine that you don't like fuck-niggas
Mister Keef
I heard you don't like sneak dissas
I also heard you don't like stalking-ass bitches
And I could go on and on and on about all the things that you don't like
But Señor Keef
What do you like?
I can imagine you like the finer things
I can tell by your music videos
You got Gucci belts
Fendi belts
Louis belts
A lotta belts
Not a lotta shirts
Why don't you like shirts, Sergeant Keef?
I'm 300% sure you can afford them
You got bands boy, in your pants boy
You got 'Raris and Rovers
And apparently these hoes love Chief Sosa
But how can you even enjoy the tender caress of a young maiden
When you can't even brush against her
Without your ashy nipples igniting a fire in her baby hairs?
What do you like, Doctor Keef?
Do you like the sensation of a breeze coursing its way through your baby dreads?
Do you like the gentle chafing of house arrest bracelets?
The feel of a dozen half-naked men bumping into you
Shouting 'Oh brah' like a sweet serenade
Grunting and fingering AKs in your grandma's basement
I mean, who wouldn't like that?
Do you like-
Do you like the sensation of your lips cracking against the brutality of the Chicago wind?
Because
It looks like you do
And by your lyrics I can tell that you don't like consonants
"These bitches love Sosa, O end or no-"
So you must like vowels, right?
Right?
Father Keef!
Why must there be so much negativity in your life?
Too many negations and not enough affirmations
Hugging the block, but never hugging your parents
Who hurt you?
Who
Hurt
You?
You're bottling up your emotions along with that codeine and Sprite
You're cutting and bagging your feelings like that yayo
Your face is probably just ashy from a lack of tears
Let those tears fall, Papa Keef
Let those tears inundate your grandma's basement
Wash away those indictments
Those Gucci belts
Those thirsty thotties
And cry, Rabbi Keef
Cry until you cannot cry anymore
And when you are through
Put your hand to your chest and feel your heartbeat
Bang-bang
Bang-bang
Bang-bang
And let everything that you don't like go
And if you can't do that
Well
That's that shit
I don't like