Letra de Brucifix - Conway the Machine

(Feat. Westside Gunn)

Brr

Cocaine, caviar, and grouper fishes (Sniff)

You see a bunch of rappers, I see a group of bitches (Haha)

No broke niggas around me

That shit might rub off, I'm superstitious (Get out of here)

Direct deposit just came in, that shit 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 fucked up), shit

Word to my nigga Malice, everything I spew malicious

That's just somethin' to think about when y'all do y'all lists (Talk that shit)

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?)

Haha, yeah, niggas can't control their emotions, show their true intentions

That bitch 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, bitch)

So paranoid, some nights, I sleep with this Glock in my hand (Uh-huh)

Havin' visions of niggas that I done shot with this can (I swear)

It's niggas 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)

Shit, I'm just that nigga, 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, damn

Came a long way from when a nigga was shot in my van

Tourin' overseas, I just had a moshpit in France

Puttin' on for my niggas that's locked in the jam (Ah)

I don't rock with industry niggas, they is not my mans (Uh-huh)

Uh-uh (Brr)

Flygod

Ayo

I don't trust no fuckin' 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 Bottega green satchels (Grr)

Bet I'll be at you, Tom Ford tracksuit

Prince Markie D on the stove, wearin' raccoons

You just got it, I wore this shit Fashion Week last June (Ah)

Balenciaga, Adida', baklava (Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot)

The chopper shot, the suede Maserati, with the Prada top (Skrrt)

American cups, patent leathers on blasè blah (Hmm)

Denim Tears Saint Michael top off, Mardi Gras (Brr, brr, brr, brr)

I talked to Sly and Kutter today (Ah)

Still be in the hood, got a house on the lake

Got album of the year, still get work from the Bay (Ah)

Otis had been told me "If you gon' play, you gotta play"

My nigga just seen a boy, stomach hurtin', he gotta stay (Hmm)

Gave Y.N. a new Griselda chain and a Drac' (Brr)

(Brr)

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