musicas.mus.br

Letras de músicas - letra de música - letra da música - letras e cifras - letras traduzidas - letra traduzida - lyrics - paroles - lyric - canciones - BENZ WINDOW (FEAT. PRODIGY) - CONWAY THE MACHINE - música e letra

Utilize o abecedário abaixo para abrir as páginas de letras dos artistas

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

Benz Window (feat. Prodigy) letra


You know how we can purchase a couple of TEC-9, semi-automatics, extended magazines?
Hold on, who? TEC-9's? The fuck for?
It's a family problem

Green light nigga, uh
Give them niggas the drum (Lock and load)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Brrr!)
Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun (Hahaha)
Fifty on his head—his own shooters get it done (Cap)

Pyrex pot, got the yola resi' (Whip up)
Shoot a fifteen with the sweeper hold it steady
James Patterson with the pen, I'm writing thrillers
I write it for killers, they treat my words like Bible scriptures (Cap)
Had the youngin fire the blicka
Tryna peel a cap for that contract he never seen that type of scrilla (Nah)
I ain't like these weirdo rappers, I'm a psycho nigga
Grimy like Tyson in ninety nigga, you Bryson Tiller (Haaa)
Homie, that's on dogs I never liked you niggas
Hit you with some shit outta this automatic rifle nigga (Brrr!)
Praise me, I'm like Christ to niggas
Them lost niggas was blind I dropped the shit and gave sight to niggas
Load the M-16 rocking Supreme
Nowadays they don't make diss songs, they making memes
Till I find them and run down on and 'em and let it ring
Bitch there ain't a rapper alive fucking with the Machine (Not at all)

Give them niggas the drum (Green light 'em)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Brrrrr)
Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun (Haaaa!)
Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done (Cap)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Hah)
Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done (Hahaha!)

Look, the shooter squeezing, he a heathen when he snort
M-16 ringing leave you bleeding on your porch (Brrr)
Look, you keep running your dicksuckers that's the reason you a corpse, water whip it up I'm seasoned with the fork (Whip it up!)
I'm blowing money up in Neiman for the sport (blow it all!), ran up in Fally's bet I'm leaving in the Porsche
Got pulled, bailed out and I ain't even go to court (Haaa!)
My homie say my flow raw like the kis that he import, whoa
You talking like you that official when you clap ya pistol
I drop a bag on you and have my savage get you
Chopper chop your body up it's looking like some axes hit you (Woo!)
Fuck you and them faggot niggas rapping with you
Shout out my Bmore homie that love to clap his whistle (What up my nigga?)
Hit a pussy nigga, snap back with missiles (Boom!)
Empty the whole magazine (uh), give them the drum with love from The Machine

Give them niggas the drum (Green light 'em)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Brrr)
Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun (Haaa!)
Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done (Cap)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Hah)
Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done (Hahaha!)

Go lookin' for a nigga, I catch him at his stomp ground
Hop out with the blocka, brrrap him and his boys down
High level violence, maximum overload
Pussy niggas cryin' like P you took it overboard!
My pops raised a gangsta, and you just a bird to me
I don't give a shit, who you shot who you murked homie
Name ringin' bells I give him his first L, and he was so sure that I was so soft
Shots flashed like the lightning, it's heavy metal gear
He let his fear overpower his mind and think clear
All these bullets set your beard on fire, when weird ass niggas come fucking with live ones
When real ass niggas come fucking with a no fuck giving ass nigga, coroner taking pictures of your body sliced open, you're posed for the autopsy
Oh these niggas tellin'? Well tell them send more cops
P, I'm at your neck
She said you tattooin' tears but ain't even kill a pussy yet
I fucked the truth out her, confessin' her sins
She tell me everything, how I know where your momma live, uh
Later for a bitch, I'm busy holla back soon
The paper boy, Empire State boy, rap Crusoe
Whoever in my way up, clowns with the make up
You Ronald McDonald face fuck I straight up
Paint more red on your forehead
I don't want your jewelry, nigga, I just want you dead
I don't want your money, you gon' pay me with your soul
And I'mma drink red rum from your skull, uh

Give them niggas the drum (Green light 'em)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Brrr)
Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun (Ha!)
Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done (Cap)
Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Huh)
Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done (Hahahaha!)

Conway The Machine - Letras

top 30 músicas

©2003 - 2026 - musicas.mus.br