Conway The Machine, Prodigy - Benz Window lyrics

"You know how we can purchase
A couple of TEC-9, semi-automatics
Extended magazines?
Hold on, who? TEC-9's? The fuck for?
It's a family problem"

Green light nigga, uh
Give them niggas the drum (Lock and load)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one
(Brrr)
Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun
(Ha ha ha) fifty on his head his own
Shooters get it done (Cap)

Pyrex pot, got the yola resi' (Whip up)
Shoot a fifteen with the
Sweeper hold it steady
James Patterson with the pen
I'm writing thrillers
I write it for killers
They treat my words like Bible scriptures


(Cap) had the youngin fire the blicka
Tryna peel a cap for that contract he
Never seen that type of scrilla (Nah)
I ain't like these weirdo rappers
I'm a psycho nigga
Grimy like Tyson in ninety nigga
You Bryson Tiller (Haaa)
Homie, that's on dogs I
Never liked you niggas
Hit you with some shit outta
This automatic rifle nigga (Brrr)
Praise me, I'm like Christ to niggas
Them large niggas was blind I dropped the
Shit and gave sight to niggas
Load the M-16 rocking Supreme
Nowadays they don't make diss songs
They making memes
Till I find them and run down on
And 'em and let it ring
Bitch there ain't a rapper alive
Fucking with the Machine (Not at all)

Give them niggas the drum (Green light 'em)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one
(Brrrrr)
Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun
(Haaaa) fifty on his head his own
Shooters'll get it done (Cap)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one
(Hah) fifty on his head his own
Shooters'll get it done (Ha ha ha)

Look, the shooter squeezing
He a heathen when he snort
M-16 ringing leave you bleeding on your porch
(Brrr) look, you keep running
Your dicksuckers that's
The reason you a corpse
Water whip it up I'm seasoned with the fork
(Whip it up)
I'm blowing money up in Neiman for the sport
(blow it all) , ran up in Fally's bet I'm
Leaving in the Porsche got pulled
Bailed out and I ain't even go to court
(Haaa) my homie say my flow raw like
The kis that he import, whoa
You talking like you that official
When you clap ya pistol
I drop a bag on you and
Have my savage get you
Chopper chop your body up it's looking
Like some axes hit you (Woo)
Fuck you and them faggot
Niggas rapping with you
Shout out my Bmore homie that
Love to clap his whistle (What up my nigga?)
Hit a pussy nigga, snap back with missiles
(Boom) empty the whole magazine
(uh)
Give them the drum with love from The Machine

Give them niggas the drum (Green light 'em)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one
(Brrrrr)
Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun
(Haaaa) fifty on his head his own
Shooters'll get it done (Cap)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one
(Hah) fifty on his head his own
Shooters'll get it done (Ha ha ha)

Give them niggas the drum (Green light 'em)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one
(Brrr)
Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun
(Haaa) fifty on his head his own
Shooters'll get it done (Cap)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one
(Hah) fifty on his head his own
Shooters'll get it done (Ha ha ha)

Go lookin' for a nigga
I catch him at his stomp ground
Hop out with the blocka
Brrrap him and his boys down
High level violence, maximum overload
Pussy niggas cryin' like "P
You took it overboard!"
My pops raised a gangsta
And you just a bird to me
I don't give a shit
Who you shot who you murked homie
Name ringin' bells I give him his first L
And he was so sure that I was so soft
Shots flashed like the lightning
It's heavy metal gear
He let his fear overpower his
Mind and think clear
All these bullets set your beard on fire
When weird ass niggas come
Fucking with live ones
When real ass niggas come fucking
With a no fuck giving
Ass nigga, coroner taking pictures of
Your body sliced open
You're posed for the autopsy
Oh these niggas tellin'? Well tell
Them send more cops p, I'm at your neck
She said you tattooin' tears but ain't
Even kill a pussy yet
I fucked the truth out her
Confessin' her sins
She tell me everything, how I
Know where your momma live, uh
Later for a bitch, I'm busy holla back soon
The paper boy, Empire State boy, rap Crusoe
Whoever in my way up, clowns with the make up
You Ronald McDonald face fuck I straight up
Paint more red on your forehead
I don't want your jewelry, nigga
I just want you dead
I don't want your money
You gon' pay me with your soul
And I'mma drink red rum from your skull, uh

Give them niggas the drum (Green light 'em)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one
(Brrr)
Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun
(Ha) fifty on his head his own
Shooters'll get it done (Cap)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one
(Huh) fifty on his head his own
Shooters'll get it done (Ha ha haha)