Lex Luger

[Intro: Conway] Yeah, BRRR You know what's up nigga Machine bitch, Daringer We back at it again boy You know this shit easy to us Griselda (Griselda) We gettin' money nigga [Verse 1: Conway] Look, my neck on Slick Rick bitch yeah I'm the ruler Watch is bluer rock the Muller watch that I just copped from jewelers But I come from the bottom, I'm straight up out the sewer Drug dealer, chop pursuer, pot consumer I been through a lot I'm just a cognac drinking nigga, a Glock user Top remover, and yes, that baby Tec it got the cooler (brr) Them hollow tips, they get to popping thru ya Take my shooters out to eat, the waitress bringing lobsters to us Like I said, fuck your covers and your list Long as that Rollie bust down, looking disgusting on my wrist Plus I'm lugging the fifth out in public with the blick' My shooter close, he can't wait to start bugging with the stick Might catch me in LA, smoking Dutch's with my bitch Came a long way from trap kitchens fluffing up a brick Look at me now, I bet them other suckers sick to their stomach They see me popping, they wanna cut they fucking wrist, damn Pardon me, this moon rock's got me coughing I'm with a bitch that I just knocked from Boston She gon' top me off and then An Uber drop her off and then I'm back to jotting raw shit You pussy niggas cop us off Aim this 30, pop ya at your top, then, I'ma knock it off with Everything I drops the hardest That's how I knew I was gon' pop regardless Bars like the shit outta the chopper cartridge Scope and beam on it, and I just spot my target, Machine [Hook: Conway] The cuban weigh a key, you see the rolex The phillip mint duffle full of fold up tecs Trap kitchen, paraphernalia nigga Bodies on bodies, this Griselda nigga The cuban weigh a key, you see the rolex The phillip mint duffle full of fold up tecs Trap kitchen, paraphernalia nigga Bodies on bodies, this Griselda nigga [Verse 2: Westside Gunn] Ayo, rockin the ferragam' fifth drop, yo Been backin all night in my bitch spot yo Look at the crystals my fist got yo I whipped that shit til that shit block yo Ten millimeter in the Simon Miller Rhymes is iller, your life's real but mines realer In the attic up, hundred pounds in a vacuum sealer Perignon spiller, Oscar de la Renta Jewels heavy, it's the most incredible Grease stains Timb boots up in federal Black ski mask in your bushes PO want shit, all he wanna do is cook us Yola on the Foreman got me looking gorgeous Just left the lot with my bitch, we copped twin Porsches Just left the lot with my bitch, we copped twin Porsches [Verse 3: Benny the Butcher] Yo, uh I used to run my block with fiends with hundred shot machines Could've got degrees but ended up, in Comstock in green The kicks fake, but the top Supreme We went on shopping sprees, and he ain't want shit, just a Glock to squeeze Spraying tools off, while I'm shaving through raw I cook my first half in a baby food jar The fiends kept calling, it was taking too long Now, I bag a whole block, off a plate that's too small Yo, a couple zips don't make you a hustler They go from 10 to 30 bands when they make it through customs Catch me racing through in a laser blue Tesla With Griselda on the plates, hundred K in the duffel Scary shit, the boogeyman carry sticks The plug said he's 'bout to touch down, like Larry Fitz Rappers saying they gon' shoot that up and bury this Tell his mama go identify him by a pair of kicks [Hook: Conway] The cuban weigh a key, you see the rolex The phillip mint duffle full of fold up tecs Trap kitchen, paraphernalia nigga Bodies on bodies, this Griselda nigga The cuban weigh a key, you see the rolex The phillip mint duffle full of fold up tecs Trap kitchen, paraphernalia nigga Bodies on bodies, this Griselda nigga