Sons of Kings

[Intro: Conway the Machine]
Yeah
Brrrrr
Yeah

[Verse 1: Conway the Machine]
You niggas rock anything and you call it drip
She come and do anything for me, I call your bitch (Come here, bitch)
You niggas sell anything and you call it fish (Hah)
We don't have nothing in common if you never bought a brick (Not at all)
DA tryna make them RICO charges stick
We good money over here, we just made the lawyer rich (We good, nigga)
Baguette AP, I got a gorgeous wrist, I took all the risks
My dawg shot two niggas and got deported back to Port-au-Prince (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
We gettin' bags, but there's more to get
I started a record label, I've been on some corporate shit
Nigga own several properties, we got mortgages
I could still have a nigga run down on you, dump the .40 clip (Brr, brr)
I don't understand how a nigga broke and he forty-six
But always run his dicksuckers about how he was extortin' shit (Fuck outta here)
That's cap, you ain't extortin' shit, buck fifty on my watch
Rockin' this Louis V imported shit, Machine, bitch (It's the Machine)

[Verse 2: Knowledge The Pirate]
I know they fear the god, DB, not Aston Martin
Dripped in Fear of God, big gun like Pun, yeah, we the Terror Squad
Sometimes I feel like Nipsey Hussle in a marathon
These niggas out here runnin' around in a rat race
How many kitchen chefs and fish scales in that trap house?
You on the internet with them bitches gettin' catfished
See me mobbin', ridin' through Harlem, nigga, and what?
Any problem we let that MAC spit, rrrah
When the MAC spit, he got hit
Blood was drippin' all on his brand new Gucci sweatsuit
Don't become a R.I.P. t-shirt or a tattoo
Gloves and masks (Word), hockey stick when they slide through
Post your death on IG, let 'em watch it like a drive-through
Write a song about it then download the shit on iTunes
On my Scarface, incarcerated niggas with war wounds
Hold your head, son, you'll be home soon
Pirate