Machine & McQueen

[Intro: Sample]
"Ain't a mothafuckin nigga gonna say nothing fly again. I'm a professional mothafuckin' sucka ducka. It's hard on a pimp and a gangsta and a trucker, understand me. Ray Charles was blind but he had vision. Hopefully you can see where this pimpin' goin'"

[Verse 1: Conway]
Told you it ain't safe for you (huh)
I got the shooter on the chase for you
Took a few thousand out the safe for you (put that bag on you)
Five bullets in the thirty-eight for you (ah huh)
I know these niggas ain't loyal, that's a snake for you (I don't fuck with niggas)
Plug hit me, said I got a plate for you (I got that for you)
As far as rapping, I'm Tom Brady, you Blake Bortles
I ain't normal
I'm an alien, I ain't mortal
I escape from outer space through a gate portal
Machine & McQueen
My queen is Celine, M-16 with the beam it'll ring
On Hot 97 with the thing in my jeans
I'm Kareem with the rings (whoa, talk to em')
I'm the nigga you should be pleased to meet
'Cause I appease the streets and I ain't even reach my peak
Could drop a bag or have the youngin' do you greasy free
White thermal under his Dickie, I call him Eazy E
Tighten ya boots, I'm nice in the booth
More like Jesus Christ in the booth
Over beats my nigga Khrysis produced
I'm in the hood shooting dice I'm with gooks
I fucked around and aced twice to the deuce
I threw the dice on the roof
Fuck it, everything I write is the truth
Bars hit hard like Tyson
I'll chew ya motherfuckin' ear off
It's like I just started my career off
But watch how I'm 'bout to finish the year off

[Interlude: Sample]
"If you hatin', bitch you don't do nothin' but make me muthafuckin' lucky. I'm tryna tell ya; all thanks to my haters, they mouth has made me famous. And on the back of the t-shirt it say"

[Verse 2: Elzhi]
I'm the reason why these artists seek a new hobby
Most describe my vibe as bumping Tribe and La Di Da Di through the Bugatti
So I don't care who's your favorite, save it
'Cause they got one foot in the grave with the other on the pavement
I'm amazing, made it out to the Bahamas blazing
What kind of son was your mama raising
I spit a massive scene of fire
The clash between the liar
Acid jeans soaked in gasoline or fashion queen attire
Feels like a million bucks in the cash machine or wire
Transfer my plans work to make a brash marine retire
You're not slick
Even what I jot quick is toxic
It's been known to keep the chances slim and the plot thick
Counting checks, ching
I'ma be the next king
Niggas follow like a Tie Fighter does a X-Wing
Line for line if you snort it you can lock or tort it
While drifting in and out orbit while the signal's distorted
I body you the way AIDS-infected punani do
I'm John Gotti crew with a shotty, Bruce's karate shoot
To a snotty nose on the potty taking a squatty

[Outro: Sample]
"[?] (bitch ass nigga) I had to get a drink, so that I can think. Now, you can't have a drink unless you got a bank, you understand me (Yup). Believe me, because this is real talk from a real nigga that eat and sleep this motherfucking shit"