Conway the Machine - Th3rd F

[Verse 1: Conway] Whippin' yay at the fiend house Tuck the yopper in the fiend couch '07, light Dutches, nigga My gun game, you can't fuck with, nigga Break both shins, put you on crutches, nigga Po-po at the door you better flush it, nigga He sold 19, only a bird left [Chorus: Conway] D's kicked his door and found it, that's his third F D's kicked his door and found it, that's his third F D's kicked his door and found it, hold up [Verse 2: Conway] Look, since 15 been a TEC shooter Did a stretch, came home big as Lex Luger Grilled lobster with the conch fritters Griselda, bitch, who can fuck with us? I'm from the city niggas get smoked for a half a ki Versace specs, silk shirt on, bitch, I'm Master P (hahahaha) Master kush, I done smoked about a half a P 'Bout to lock the game up and bury the master key Had the foreign parked at my crime spot Stick on the back seat if the dram' pop 40 dollar ace, lyin' around block I know I ain't shit, I even sold my mom rocks Free the gangstas in Clinton Max and Comstock Attica and Wyoming, Albion, the guys know me Might go see my jeweller, buy 5 Rollies Just to remind myself, it's my time homie Bodies on the blicky, hit his body with the .50 Shot shotty 'til it flippy Catch a body then I'm probably in the Masi doin' 60 In Atlanta smokin' sour, ain't nobody fuckin' with me I'm a legend in the flesh, respect me like your father Fuck them pussy niggas, I will hit 'em with the carbon Put you on the front of a t-shirt, we merk whoever, nigga [Interlude: Raekwon] Yeah man, little niggas better be careful, man Them little niggas out there man, playin', man Playin' them big drums, nigga Be careful, man, for real, man It's Griselda life, nigga, Wu-Tang, nigga That's right, for real Hold the fort gradually, nigga Keep nothin' but Uzis With motherfuckin' big potato skin on the top of it, nigga You know what I'm sayin'? This real life, nigga Don't get caught up, nigga This is not a game nigga, this is not a game We will take your sneakers Take all that bread and everything, nigga For real, man, word up, man, word to mother, man You know the voice, nigga You know who it is, man, call your boss in [Verse 3: Raekwon] Egg shell S's, Guess jeans on, I blow finesseness Caught me in Texas with Nexus cards and stolen Lexuses Me and my guest list of gun holders who blow pedestrians Half a boat load of coke inside my jets and shit Off like a Mexican, my best friend dip We run together, fuck all your next man shit Fuck your captain, he overreacted, I'll slowly blow your back in Catch you in traffic, the nozzle spit sporadic We runs frenetic, I runs the cabinet, that gun's Ben Affleck I drag flips, get caught in the cross like Catholics I hold a black slips, I slap tricks, I mack slick You dap dicks, clowns get found naked in black whips And sign him off, he wasn't mine, he wasn't slime in Rolf's Then this rich niggas' Drink Champs, can't buy me off Niggas is homos and bozos and logos, ridin' Volvos Your clothes on, your hoes is sold, you lost ya soul