Conway The Machine, Berner - London Pound lyrics
Conway the Machine [Demond Price] Buffalo, New York. U.S. 🇺🇸
[Conway The Machine, Berner - London Pound lyrics]
Yeah, Machine, what up? This a vibe
Cookin' Soul
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
Yeah, talk your shit, playboy
I mean we runnin' this shit right now
We got somethin' special on the way too look
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
Cookin' Soul
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
Yeah, talk your shit, playboy
I mean we runnin' this shit right now
We got somethin' special on the way too look
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