Conway the Machine - London Pound

[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 killed my lil' homie for his necklace Don Pérignon, all this shit 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 shit 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 shit, playboy I mean we runnin' this shit 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 Nobu eatin' crabs, you know, the soft shell (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 fuck around (Uh-uh) Fuck 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 shit over, nigga) 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 (Damn) He lost a hundred, UPS workers done took his load (Niggas grimy) Yeah, we came a long way from cookin' O's (Facts) Now it's a driveway full of foreigns, bitch, look at those, woah You niggas broke, I can tell I'm 'bout to drop this new shit and it got that GOAT album feel You niggas talkin' all spicy, well how much did your album sell? (Nothin') Nigga, I would've still had the bag if I ain't have no album deal, for real