Conway the Machine, Westside Gunn - Brucifix Lyrics

Brrt

Cocaine caviar, in group with fishes (sniff)
You see a bunch of rappers, I see a group of bitches
No broke niggas around me
That shit might rub off, I'm superstitious (get out of here)
Direct deposit just came in, that shit was too ridiculous
My music motivate dudes in the trenches, usin' switches (uh-huh)
Ain't even gotta drop a bag, them boys gon' do your dishes (boom, boom, boom)
Bro got all that time, he appealed and they reduced the sentence
And he still gotta do two digits (that's fucked up), shit
Word to my nigga, Malice, everythin' I spew malicious
That's just somethin' to think about when y'all do y'all lists (talk that shit)
Run at me, you runnin' towards a wall, boy, I ain't movin' inches (uh-huh)
DJ modified the yacht, he like, "Buzz, check my new invention" (what up, Buzz?)
yeah, niggas can't control their emotions, show their true intentions
That bitch was broke, that made me lose my interest
I'm so in the lead, I could leave for three years and still ain't losin' distance (ha)
Look, it was resi' in them pots and them pans, now it's tropical sand (whip up)
I told her, "Don't even pack, we gon' shop when we land" (we shoppin')
Private villa, seafood tower, lobster and clam (get money shit)
So paranoid, some nights, I sleep with this Glock in my hand (uh-huh)
Havin' visions of niggas that I done shot with this can (I swear)
It's niggas that I love, I know, tryna plot on my land (you plottin', huh?)
Whack 'em, bury 'em in my yard, dig his plot on my land (woo)
Shit, I'm just that nigga, boy, look at my run
Look all of the classics that I dropped in the span of six years
It would seem I did the impossible, damn
Came a long way from when a nigga was shot in my van
Tourin' overseas, I just had a moshpit in France
Puttin' on for my niggas that's locked in the jam (ah)
I don't rock with industry niggas, they is not my mans (uh-huh)

Uh-uh (brrt)
(Flygod) ayo

I don't trust no-fuckin'-body but this heckler (boom, boom, boom)
Just spent thirty-thousand in the Webster (ah)
You know the God, nothin' more, nothin' lesser (uh-uh)
Jamaican, raw, hit him in his head and said, "Bless up" (budda-ba-bye)
(boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Ayo, Jamaican, raw, hit him in his head and said, "Bless up" (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Ayo, tell 'em to bring the match, to wear Patek green sandals (bgrrt)
Better be at you, Tom Ford tracksuit
Prince Markie D on the stove, wearin' raccoons
You just got it, I wore this shit Fashion Week last June (ah)
Balenciaga, Adida, baklava (doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot)
The chopper shot, the suede Maserati with the Prada top (skrrt)
American cups, patent leathers on blasè blah
Then them tears sing Michael Top off, Mardi Gras (brrt, brrt, brrt, brrt)
I talked to Sly and Cutter today (ah)
Still be in the hood, got a house on the lake
Got album of the year, still get work from the Bay (ah)
Oldest seven told me, "If you gon' play, you gotta play"
My nigga just seen a boy, stomach hurt and he got a stain
Gave Y.N. a new Griselda chain and a Drac' (brrt, brrt)