Speshal Machinery [Big Ghost Ltd. Version]

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Conway the Machine

Demond Price (born February 16, 1982), known professionally as Conway the Machine (or simply Conway), is an American rapper. Conway was born in Buffalo, New York, and is the older brother of Westside Gunn and cousin of frequent collaborator Benny The Butcher. more »

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(Huh, f*ck wrong with these niggas, man?)
Know I'm sayin'? 
(Trust, nigga) yeah
Yeah, huh (f*ck that, we ain't gon' never stop, nigga)
This my type of shit, man (y'all niggas in trouble, nigga)
Let's go (let's go)
Ayo

Niggas change when the lead drawn (brrat)
I'm the plug you run off on and end up with your legs gone (keep going)
Patience short and bread long (let's go)
I been through a lot of shit in this game, but it made me headstrong (I'm up)
Mink blanket keep the bed warm (let's do it)
Where I get it from? I got it made, like the Special Ed song (I got it made)
I'm the nigga that the feds on (uh)
Might see me with a fluffy French Bulldog, that rare foreign (fluffy)
Huh, I be dead calm (calm)
If something's said wrong, I transform to a lead storm (bang)
Hope you read Psalms (Psalms)
Your future I understand
'Cause gettin' blood on our hands how we read palms (read, read)
Say a prayer for my dead moms (prayer)
And my brother (brother)
Until we back together, I'ma bear arms (love you)
My shooters know I care for 'em (let's go)
They treat me like Farrakhan (uh)
I'm that nigga in rare form, trust (trust)

Uh, fork in the pot, my wrist circlin' (whip up)
Talkin' Os and blocks like Lil Durk and 'em (talk to 'em)
I don't care how good his verses is
If the nigga a rat or if he pussy
I can't work with him, yeah (f*ck outta here)
We F.O.I's gettin' R.O.I's (woo)
My first year in the game, I was the R.O.Y (uh-huh)
They ain't got no drip, they gon' borrow mines (ah)
It boggle minds how I'm fuckin' models like the Jack Harlow guy
Wow, I just get the head and f*ck her
We get bread in duffels, so the feds wanna arrest and cuff us
Niggas ain't gon' never touch us (uh-uh)
They know I'm always tryna brush into a fade
I'm Chicago on Poetic Justice (ha)
How many pointers in the chain? A half-carat each (uh-huh)
Was in the field in my shoulder pads, wearin' cleats
Toast your glass, where the clink?
Broke and mad, he airin' streets
And "on-sight" mean we on your ass anywhere we meet (boom, boom, boom, boom)
Been better, cashmere sweater, trench rocker when it's Timb weather
F*ck a debit card, gimme mine in cash, it spend better (I like cash)
Leg broken, I still ain't goin' out on a limb, never
Money stretch like Wembanyama, nigga, I been pressure (woo)
The fluorescent Balenci' shades (uh-huh)
The Midas touch, if I was involved, it was history made (facts)
In Portofino, sippin' vino like it's lemonade (okay)
They on Instagram with your chain if you mention my name 
We sold weight for real, now we havin' label deals (yeah)
Shooter bipolar, I'm tryna get him to take his pills (take your meds, nigga)
I be on May, but still, I need a place way in the hills (okay)
Comparin' me to whoever, I'm like, "Is they for real?" (Blasphemy)
I do to beats is equivalent to a Draco kill
Not only puttin' chinks in your armor, we 'bout to break your shield (uh-huh)
Punchin' like Bud Crawford until I break your will
The pain is real
The undisputed champ, reignin' still (ha)
Machine, nigga

 Watch: New Singing Lesson Videos Can Make Anyone A Great Singer