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letra de brucifix - conway the machine

[intro: conway the machine]
brr

[verse 1: conway the machine]
cocaine caviar, in group with fishes (sniff)
you see a bunch of rappers, i see a group of b-tches (haha)
no broke n-ggas around me
that sh-t might rub off, i’m superstitious (get out of here)
direct deposit just came in, that sh-t was too ridiculous
my music motivate dudes in the trenches, usin’ switches (uh-huh)
ain’t even gotta drop a bag, them boys gon’ do your dishes (boom, boom, boom)
bro got all that time, he appealed and they reduced the sentence
and he still gotta do two digits (that’s f-cked up), sh-t
word to my n-gga malice, everythin’ i spew malicious
that’s just somethin’ to think about when y’all do y’all lists (talk that sh-t)
run at me, you runnin’ towards a wall, boy, i ain’t movin’ inches (uh-huh)
dj modified the yacht, he like “buzz, check my new invention” (what up, buzz?)
hahaha, yeah, n-ggas can’t control their emotions, show their true intentions
that b-tch was broke, that made me lose my interest
i’m so in the lead, i could leave for three years and still ain’t losin’ distance (ha)
look, it was resi’ in them pots and them pans, now it’s tropical sand (whip up)
i told her “don’t even pack, we gon’ shop when we land” (we shoppin’)
private villa, seafood tower, lobster and clam (get money, b-tch)
so paranoid, some nights, i sleep with this glock in my hand (uh-huh)
havin’ visions of n-ggas that i done shot with this can (i swear)
it’s n-ggas that i love, i know, tryna plot on my land (who plottin’, huh?)
whack ’em, bury ’em in my yard, dig his plot on my land (woo)
sh-t, i’m just that n-gga, boy, look at my run
look all of the classics that i dropped in the span of six years
it would seem i did the impossible, d-mn
came a long way from when a n-gga was shot in my van
tourin’ overseas, i just had a moshpit in france
puttin’ on for my n-ggas that’s locked in the jam (ah)
i don’t rock with industry n-ggas, they is not my mans (uh-huh)
[interlude: westside gunn]
uh-uh (brr)
flygod
ayo

[verse 2: westside gunn]
i don’t trust no-f-ckin’-body but this heckler (boom, boom, boom)
just spent thirty-thousand in the webster (ah)
you know the god, nothin’ more, nothin’ lesser (uh-uh)
jamaican, raw, hit him in his head and said “bless up” (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
ayo, jamaican, raw, hit him in his head and said “bless up” (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
ayo, tell ’em to bring the match, to wear patek green sandals (grr)
better be at you, tom ford tracksuit
prince markie d on the stove, wearin’ raccoons
you just got it, i wore this sh-t fashion week last june (ah)
balenciaga, adida, baklava (doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot)
the shopper tried to sway maserati, with the prada top (skrrt)
american cups, patent lavish on [?] blocks (hmm)
then them tears sing michael top off, mardi gras (brr, brr, brr, brr)
i talked to sly and cutter today (ah)
still be in the hood, got a house on the lake
got album of the year, still get work from the bae (ah)
oldest seven told me “if you gon’ play, you gotta play”
my n-gga just seen a boy, stomach hurt and he got a stain (hmm)
gave y.n. a new griselda chain and a drac’ (brr)

- conway the machine

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