Oil Money - CONWAY THE MACHINE

Griselda, by Fashion Rebels…

Haha, the devil’s reject, nigga

Conway

See, that’s that’s the fuck is wrong with you niggas

You little niggas hard headed, man, you know

Hahaha

Look, dark nights and cold mornings

Gunshots, no warnings

Some niggas will sell they soul just to keep some gold on 'em, uhh

Pockets swoll on him, Versace clothes on him

He, got the hoes on him, he lock the whole summer, who?

Me nigga, 3 grams in one swisher

I just pray that it’s a heaven for a young nigga

Leave the club, bet your bitch wanna come, nigga

I know that’s your girl, I drop her off when I’m done with her

Or put her in a cab

Leave my beef on the streets, you niggas put it in the lab

Niggas write in they phones, they don’t put it in the pad

I just body the beats, then I put it in a bag

Yeah, 850 for the rugby

I’m a hustler my nigga, I’m where the drugs be

My Westside Connection never drug free

Throw a Ice Cube in the pot and get a dub see (Dub-C)

State to state with the flake

When it come to the flow, I’m like Blake on a break

These niggas hate what I make

Never satisfied, nigga, I take and I take

Yeah, and I still keep a weapon close

Niggas that never did nothing for you expect the most

I’m still at it, even though I stress the most

Just to see my clan with The W, Meth and Ghost

These niggas dumb, deaf and broke

I’m on the road to riches, I hope my exit close

Pyrex got the resi' in it

Top 5 dead or alive, I’m already in it, haha

The street shit I’m heavy in it

I hit the pussy it feel like I parked a Chevy in it, haha

Getting bent 'til I puke

Fifth of D’USSÉ, the sour scent in the coupe

Every dollar lent I re-coup

Juan Howard style, I play the bench in a suit

SE we run this shit, I mean that

Go tell them rapping-ass niggas The Machine back