Sons of Kings lyrics

[Intro: Conway the Machine]
Yeah
Brrrrr
Yeah

[Verse 1: Conway the Machine]
You n*ggas rock anything and you call it drip
She come and do anything for me, I call your b*tch (Come here, b*tch)
You n*ggas 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, n*gga)
Baguette AP, I got a gorgeous wrist, I took all the risks
My dawg shot two n*ggas 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 sh*t
n*gga own several properties, we got mortgages
I could still have a n*gga run down on you, dump the .40 clip (Brr, brr)
I don't understand how a n*gga broke and he forty-six
But always run his di*ksuckers about how he was extortin' sh*t (f*ck outta here)
That's cap, you ain't extortin' sh*t, buck fifty on my watch
Rockin' this Louis V imported sh*t, Machine, b*tch (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 n*ggas 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 b*tches gettin' catfished
See me mobbin', ridin' through Harlem, n*gga, 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 sh*t on iTunes
On my Scarface, incarcerated n*ggas with war wounds
Hold your head, son, you'll be home soon
Pirate