Van Buren Records, Conway The Machine, Jiles, Ricky Felix, Felix - The Source lyrics

I just pulled up in that whatchacallit
Fiends on the block, it ain't designer
Tube sock is their favorite wallet
I remember seein' my older cousin cracked
Out on my mama sofa
Slept for three days, his body slumped over
(Facts) i'm on a different tax bracket
Still the same nigga fuckin' hoes
On the air mattress
Off hand doing calisthenics
Got the hood jumping
National Grid outside, we light
The stove oven, real shit
What is life? I'm in studio with my rap peers
That Carhartt stab-proof, with it
Feel like Paul Pierce
Posted on the block with them lawn chairs
Gossiping about getting money, bad hoеs
And who out here, i'm out herе

If this was nine-four
I would've got five mics
If this was nine-four
I would've got five mics
Fuck The Source, little nigga
I'm the source for real
Fuck The Source, little nigga
I'm the source for real

I was on the Eastside picking dimes
Ripping rhymes hoping God ain't let me die
Niggas tried to take me off the earth
(For real) walkin' up on niggas after school
Tryna catch the work
Them boys were fuckin' spooked, though
Hangin' with my CVs, fuckin' on a lil' puto
Police tryna kill the folk (yeah)
Hangin' on my fuckin' hawk
Them lil' niggas gettin' poked
I was dead broke chasin' dollars
Please don't take me out my mode
Motherfuckers tryna take me out my zone
But I ain't tripping, though

Shit, and I ain't missing, though
'Cause music shit ain't set in stone
(Set in stone) just tryna set the tone
Respect your roles and fémen dan (Fémen dan)
I spent these troubled times with dimes
That could've been in Vogue
See Jiles' style is more like slam dunking
Mines is finger rolls
Shit, if it was '98, I'd sign to Murder Inc
(yeah) i'd cop the coldest mink and crew
Would got the goldest links (yeah)
A plain Rollie face
That shiny shit depreciates (yeah)
But this is present day shit
See, where I'm from, I made it

If this was nine-four
I would've got five mics
If this was nine-four
I would've got five mics
Fuck The Source, little nigga
I'm the source for real
Fuck The Source, little nigga
I'm the source for real

Look i used to want five mics in The Source
Now I'm the source for real
Nigga couldn't afford a deal
Now I do corporate deals
Peanut butter seats, the Porsche was teal
Had all the odds stacked against me
I made a fortune still (I'm up, nigga)
That boy was doing the most
So he was forced to chill (Sit down, pussy)
Talkin' greasy on internet
That boy in his feelings
I got the bag to have him smoked
I can afford to kill (Uh, huh)
Machine, bitch, I'm a boss for real (Woo)
Mafia shit, two to the head
How that revolver feel?
Got wise guys that'll whack you
Get rid of that corpse for real
Got mob ties, my guy
But I don't eat no pork or veal
And I'm top five with lines
If ever we talking skill
And I got fly, I'm top three
If ever we talking spill, shit
(Talk to 'em)
Nigga, you broke, so why you talking still?
(Hah)
Put the nail in them niggas' coffin still
Got the carbine steel
I'll blow they melon across the field
Machine