212 - CONWAY THE MACHINE

Please be advised, nobody iller than me and 'Zhi

Last nigga thought he could fuck with me, made him eat his pride

Keep in mind these raps I keep in mind, I don’t read a rhyme

I just see them lines in my head, I’m lyrically inclined (woo!)

Spray the MAC shells ate his back, now you can see his spine

Stating facts, I’m on it like that until I’m seeing time

You ain’t believe but you gon' see in time

I’m It Was Written Nas, you can’t shine

You a gram, I’m a ki of China

When you see me, boy, you see a giant

I handle pressure like '03 LeBron and I ain’t even seen my prime

I ain’t asking niggas for shit, my nigga we’ll grind

How my niggas burn down your trap and you won’t see a dime

We the kind of niggas that’s tripping and squeeze an iron

Leave a nigga lying where police’ll find him with a piece of mind missing

If a piece of mine’s missing, I’ma turn this bitch to Vietnam

Nobody did it like Benny, me and slime

Listen, El’s vicious, well-wishers cause Chanel kisses

While the shellfish is being served with lobster tail dishes

For spitting sick, they asking, «Is he well?»

After dinner, I stick a chick placenta then spin her like a dizzy spell

I do not miss when I jot this

I fill your storylines with cliffhangers and plot twists

The boy’s poisonous, pesticide

I’m taking mines off top to let the rest divide

The chain was took or your Lexus die

So if I hopped in the Ghost, most of y’all’ll feel possessed inside

The next to blow in Mexico on my day off

Or could I be in the Santa Fe loft

I’m tryna screw you up and throw you way off

I witness credit ripoffs, temporary layoffs

And more straps than lingerie cloth

Now my house is sitting where they play golf

That’s a different hole in one than one from a stolen gun

They get you three strikes if you ain’t bowling none

I’m a product of low-income housing

Crack vials in alleyways strung out thousands

So any common man would get they crown snatched and what’s attached,

that’s they diamonds ran

That’s they off to selling dreams in the promised land

I keep Franklins that’s Washington and Thomas man

In my eyes you see the future like Nostradamus can

You in the past, don’t make me turn you into black history

They lack mystery, it’s wack dissing me

My nuts is too big like both rappers that back Mister Cee

Hand off my sack from Cognac while I’m twisting tree

At the airport in first class, chair boarding

In the overhead’s a Gucci bag full of rare Jordans

To rock a show and pack the house like I was there hoarding

Shock the world’s wardens and repair all electric chair shortages