Conway The Machine - Country Mike lyrics
Conway the Machine [Demond Price] Buffalo, New York. U.S. 🇺🇸
[Conway The Machine - Country Mike lyrics]
Yeah, uh you know what's up, pussy
Uh
Watch froze, foreign that I drove
Dodging potholes
Extendo clips and the Glocks, we got those
Versace my clothes
Every time I answer my phone
That’s like a block sold
You can say I got the block sewed
Grab two cubes of ice and drop those
The product in the pot rose
Eleven hundred my O's
It's residue on my stove (Talk to ’em)
Dior all on my toes, eleven hundred
Rock those choppers, we pop those, damn
We ain't the same if you don't shoot
Your blick or use your stick
Don't try to hide, if we can't find you
We gon' shoot your bitch
Nail her to the crucifix, gruesome shit
I hate rappers, fuck you and that nigga
That produced your shit machine
Lately I been gettin' a lot of hate, uh
Razor to the side of your face, you violate
Blue hundred dollar bills
Sniffin' coke on Versace plates
Think about all the commas I’ma
Make when I create i come from the bottom
Wildin’ and hoppin' gates, uh
If you ain’t got a body
You probably cannot relate, uh
Country Mike died in my face in '98
Gun was in the yard, not on
My waist, that's my mistake, ah
(Rest in peace, my nigga)
Yeah, I get hate from haters
'cause I’m makin' paper fuck them niggas
I did it my way and now my cake is major
Hit your face with razor
I slide with stick like I play for Sabres
We poppin' them sticks, fifty shot clips
That shit'll wake the neighbors
All these rappers stealin' my lane I made up
I'm who they say is the savior
Tell these new niggas they can thank me later
(Thank me later, nigga)
Boring, it's like you swimming in
The lake with gators
Razor my plate up, choppin' weight
Up, get your weight up, pussy
Uh
Watch froze, foreign that I drove
Dodging potholes
Extendo clips and the Glocks, we got those
Versace my clothes
Every time I answer my phone
That’s like a block sold
You can say I got the block sewed
Grab two cubes of ice and drop those
The product in the pot rose
Eleven hundred my O's
It's residue on my stove (Talk to ’em)
Dior all on my toes, eleven hundred
Rock those choppers, we pop those, damn
We ain't the same if you don't shoot
Your blick or use your stick
Don't try to hide, if we can't find you
We gon' shoot your bitch
Nail her to the crucifix, gruesome shit
I hate rappers, fuck you and that nigga
That produced your shit machine
Lately I been gettin' a lot of hate, uh
Razor to the side of your face, you violate
Blue hundred dollar bills
Sniffin' coke on Versace plates
Think about all the commas I’ma
Make when I create i come from the bottom
Wildin’ and hoppin' gates, uh
If you ain’t got a body
You probably cannot relate, uh
Country Mike died in my face in '98
Gun was in the yard, not on
My waist, that's my mistake, ah
(Rest in peace, my nigga)
Yeah, I get hate from haters
'cause I’m makin' paper fuck them niggas
I did it my way and now my cake is major
Hit your face with razor
I slide with stick like I play for Sabres
We poppin' them sticks, fifty shot clips
That shit'll wake the neighbors
All these rappers stealin' my lane I made up
I'm who they say is the savior
Tell these new niggas they can thank me later
(Thank me later, nigga)
Boring, it's like you swimming in
The lake with gators
Razor my plate up, choppin' weight
Up, get your weight up, pussy