Sons of Kings

Lyrics

[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