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letra de london pound - conway the machine

[intro: berner]
yeah, machine, what up?
this a vibe
cookin’ soul

[verse 1: berner]
vacation house cost a quarter milli’ for the week
from rubber bands on the wrist to vv’s on the new philippe
we got a different reach, i’m global plus your boy a mogul
a million pounds at the ranch house in acapulco
rare polo and vintage lenses, i’m whippin’ benzes
rest in peace, they k!lled my lil’ homie for his necklace
don pérignon, all this sh-t i smoke is strong
mow the lawn, the snakes in the mix, i want ’em gone
i’m out in brooklyn moving, just broke the digi’ scale
they broke, they wanna see me fail, ’cause their bag is stale
crab cakes and cocaine, convos with the real cartel
this sh-t fly, the work your plug got is hard to sell
conway, i’m on one, a hundred in my carry-on
the fast life is beautiful, it doesn’t last very long
ny, we ready, branded baggies in my ‘telly, yeah
bulletproof chevy and my shooter’s hand steady

[interlude: conway]
yeah, talk your sh-t, playboy
i mean we runnin’ this sh-t right now
we got somethin’ special on the way too
look

[verse 2: conway]
came up movin’ sixty-twos, makin’ raw sales
baking soda in that pot, it make that raw swell
we ran it up, that money doing cartwheels
cake me jake, i don’t let time imagine how my dawg feel (free brodie)
we at n-bu eatin’ crabs, you know, the soft sh-ll (we eatin’ good)
whole lot of gelati, i keep my cigar filled (smokin’)
scorpion stamp all in them bricks, that’s from the cartel (uh-huh)
bag heavy, pick it up, it feel like i’m liftin’ barbells, yeah
turkey backwoods, smokin’ out the pound
london pound wrapped in my vibe, i don’t f-ck around (uh-uh)
f-ck around, one of my guys come and buck you down
gun you down, shoot up your corner with a hundred rounds, yeah
the sound provided by cookin’ soul (uh-huh)
came in this game from out of nowhere and i took control (i took sh-t over, n-gg-)
rockin’ my jewels, i’m goin’ to see one of my brooklyn hoes
a hundred thousand last month, that’s just from bookin’ shows
my bro just took a loss, it hurt him to his soul (d-mn)
he lost a hundred, ups workers done took his load (n-gg-s grimy)
yeah, we came a long way from cookin’ o’s (facts)
now it’s a driveway full of foreigns, b-tch, look at those, woah
you n-gg-s broke, i can tell
i’m ’bout to drop this new sh-t and it got that goat alb-m feel
you n-gg-s talkin’ all spicy, well how much did your alb-m sell? (nothin’)
n-gg-, i would’ve still had the bag if i ain’t have no alb-m deal, for real

- conway the machine

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