TH3RD F lyrics

[Verse 1: Conway the Machine]
Whippin' yay at the fiend house (Whip up)
Tuck the yopper in the fiend couch (I got it)
'07, light Dutches, n*gga (Huh?)
My gun game, you can't f*ck with, n*gga ('Kay)
Break both shins, put you on crutches, n*gga (Hahahaha!)
Po-po at the door, you better flush it, n*gga (Hah!)
He sold nineteen, only a bird left

[Chorus: Conway the Machine]
D's kicked his door and found it, that's his third F (That n*gga down nineteen joints, mad joints)
D's kicked his door and found it, that's his third F (That's crazy)
D's kicked his door and found it, hold up

[Verse 2: Conway the Machine]
Look, since 15 been a TEC shooter (Uh-huh)
Did a stretch, came home big as Lex Luger
Grilled lobster with the conch fritters (We eatin')
Griselda, b*tch, who can f*ck with us? (Hah!)
I'm from the city, n*ggas get smoked for a half a ki'
Versace specs, silk shirt on, b*tch, I'm Master P (Hahahaha!)
Master kush, I done smoked about a half-a-P (I'm smokin'!)
'Bout to lock the game up and bury the master key (Uh-huh)
Had the foreign parked at my crime spot ('Kay)
Stick on the back seat if the drum pop (What's good?)
Forty-dollar ace, lyin' around block
I know I ain't sh*t, I even sold my mom rocks (Hahahaha!)
Free the gangstas in Clinton Max and Comstock (Free my n*ggas! hah, hah, hah)
Attica and Wyoming, Albion, the guys know me
Might go see my shooter buy five Rollies
Just to remind myself, it's my time, homie (Talk to 'em, n*gga)
Bodies on the blicky, hit his body with this .50
Shot shotty 'til it flip him
Catch a body, then I'm probably in the Masi' doin' sixty
In Atlanta smokin' sour, ain't nobody f*ckin' with me
I'm a legend in the flesh (Uh-huh), respect me like your father (Yeah)
f*ck them pus*y n*ggas, I will hit 'em with the carbon (Brrt)
Put you on the front of a T-shirt, we murk whoever, n*gga (Who want it, n*gga? Hehehehe)
[Interlude: Raekwon]
Yeah, man, little n*ggas better be careful, man
Them little n*ggas out there man, playin', man
Playin' them big droles, n*gga
Be careful, man, for real, man
It's Griselda life, n*gga, Wu-Tang, n*gga
That's right, for real
Hold a four gradually, n*gga
Keep nothin' but UZIs
With motherf*ckin' big potato skin on the top of it, n*gga
You know what I'm sayin'?
This is real life, n*gga
Don't get caught up, n*gga
This is not a game, n*gga, this is not a game
We will take your sneakers
Take all that bread and everything, n*gga
For real, man, word up, man, word to mother, man
You know the voice, n*gga
You know who it is, man, call your boss in

[Verse 3: Raekwon]
Egg shell Ss, Guess jeans on, I blow finesseness
Caught me in Texas with Nexus cards and stolen Lexuses
Me and my guest list of gun holders who blow pedestrians
Half a boat load of coke inside my jets and sh*t
Off like a Mexican, my best friend dipped
We run together, f*ck all your next man sh*t
f*ck your captain, he overreacted, I'll slowly blow your back in
Catch you in traffic, the nozzle spit sporadic
We're one's fanatic, I runs the cabinet, that gun's Ben Affleck
I drag flips, get caught in the cross like Catholics
I hold a black slips, slap tricks, I mack slick
You dap di*ks, clowns get found naked in black whips
And sign 'em off, he wasn't mine, he wasn't slime in Rolf's
Then this rich n*ggas' Drink Champs, can't buy me off
n*ggas is homos, and bozos, and logos ridin' Volvos
Your clothes on, your hoes is sold
You lost yo' soul
[Instrumental Outro]