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Conway the Machine – John Woo Flick Lyrics

John Woo Flick Lyrics by Conway the Machine, Benny the Butcher, & Westside Gunn


Look, tell them rap n***** we takin’ over, had to change the flow up

Now I’m in the Maybach sippin’ a Spade mimosa

Take the bid and make the quota with the bakin’ soda

Pray to Jehovah, came with the shoulder strap, spray his home up

Wait, hold up, if I said so, spray your Rover

Spray his folk up, n***** good fellas like Ray Liotta

Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up

Shooter sniff the yay, he need to wake his nose up

…., the n***** over there be watchin’

He catch a body, he throwin’ bullets like Aaron Rodgers

I’m lookin’ at these rap n***** like, “Is there a problem?”

…. at your head like Larry Johnson

Kush in the morning, drink my ‘gnac in the day

I’m tired of hearin’ old n***** talk ’bout back in the day

I ride around with two things, that’s a MAC and a K

Act like I’m playin’, I’ma pull up and blast you away

Uh, yeah, I need to see the money pile over

My shooter comin’ off the bench like Kyle Korver

Hide the body for a month and left this foul odor

I’m Kobe Bryant on my team, I’m the fuckin’ closer, n****

Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up

Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up

Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up

Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up

Daringer compared to RZA

I’m compared to n***** that’ll stab you in your face with a pair of scissors

Courtside watchin’ the Wizards, Cartiers expensive

Air the extended, have you layin’ somewhere in intensive

Ah, I swing this MAC, I’m clearin’ the fences

Enough shooters on my team, not embarrassed to ….

The trap empty, all I had kitchenware and a biscuit

I need a pile of dirty cash and somewhere I can rinse it

This for my n***** in the Fed max who pray daily

My shooter put his mask up and spray eighty

That’s why he bury shit, you n***** Wayne Bradys

I’m leavin’ with your daughter if he can’t pay me

It’s OGs around me, real wretches

My shooters real reckless, it take a lot for me to feel threatened

In interviews, they askin’ real questions

Like, “Is you still hustlin’? In videos, is you usin’ real weapons?”

If it’s time to clip you, we the ones to move

I got the call about before I seen it on the news

Like raw material, the seats peanut butter too

The whole gang be doin’ life if we leave it up to you

Everybody G ’til they get hit with a hawk

Walk the main line in the L and get hit with a fork

I had a clientele list that was as big as New York

That’s why the door on my bedroom thick as a vault

The Butcher

Ayo, no bricks in the Off-White ….

The shit see-through, we rock it for the culture

Bodies on …., keep actin’ like you know us

Beautiful nightmares, we runnin’ out of soda

Rock so much Dior Homme, thought I was Kim Jones

Fuck it, cop me an island and the Benz in gold

Cookin’ up a brick, then the kitchen closed

Ran up in his locker, take that n**** phone

Catch him in his cell, my akhi sprayed him up

He did it for some oil and a prayer rug

MachineGun in the summer, still wearin’ gloves

Ayo, meet me in the mess hall with all my Bloods

Inshallah, I see a hundred

Get caught with it, I’ll be home in three summers

Get caught without it, might not live to speak about it

My n**** still got forty, he might not leave up out it

Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up

Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up

Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up

Sprayed eighty, the baby woke up

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