Conway the Machine, Jae Skeese - Cocaine Paste Lyrics

Still waiting for a big smile out of you
You're up 2-0, what's the story, are you not happy? Or
You're only half-happy? Or-
What's there to be happy about?
You're up 2-0
Job's not finished
Job finished?
I don't think so

Uh, look, we landslidin' (landslidin')
It's DrumWork, bitch, we landslidin' (uh-huh)
My man slidin' like doors on the caravan, got 'em (brrt)
Diggin' in that pot, I can't keep my hands out it (uh-huh)
So you ain't gettin' a damn dollar (not a penny, nigga)
I call my shooter Dame Dolla, it's written all on his face
He can't hide it, he itchin' to catch a damn body
(Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Yeah (brrt), yeah, he itchin' to catch a damn body (uh)

Look, Saint Patrick's Day 1 lows, I shamrocked it (uh-huh)
Yes, I copped it, my sneaker problem
Got bands hoppin' right up out of my pants pockets (crazy)
The Yeezy 1's, I copped the tan option (right)
Stüssy Dunk highs, they had the brown and tan ASICS
Rocked 'em once and then I flipped 'em for the damn profits (let's get it)
A fly nigga with advanced knowledge, yeah (you know that)
Drumwork (talk that talk), we fly niggas with advanced knowledge, look

I dotted my I's and I crossed my T's (uh-huh)
You want a feature from Con', it's gon' cost you cheese (I need a bag)
I did it bigger and took it further than they believed
One bracelet, it's two artist advances on my sleeve (uh)

I'm fresher than patent leather shinin', I rock the Cs (uh-huh)
Retro 4's with the S on the tongue, Christopher Reeves (woo)
I killed 'em, all they saw is red like the Khaled 3's
My shorty elite like the Kobe 9's, a masterpiece, goddamn (come on)

Yeah, I'm Armani every three, shoutout my brother Skeese
He threw 'em to me like breeze (good looks, my nigga)
I rocked the black strings in my Chicago SBs
In two drops, made four hundred thousand from tees, nigga (ah)

Supreme box logos on the heel, it's box logos on the tee (facts)
Black suede all over my Uptempo 33s (facts)
I'm tip-toein' through my cousin vintage like a gymnast (what up?)
They keep me fresh to death just like a fuckin' life sentence
Retro 3s light linen with the canvas on the uppers (uh-huh)
And they must respect the Drum, 'cause we demand it, motherfucker

Sold ten 'cause I'm a hustler
Got the hammer with the muffler
That's the TEC with air holes
And I'ma blam this motherfucker (boom, boom, boom)
Hundred bands on the band
My wrist dancin' like it's Usher
Tryna chill, but understand
You force my hand and I'ma touch you, nigga (brrt)

I'ma get you, nigga
We ain't playin', nigga
Drumwork, nigga