TH3RD F lyrics

[Verse 1: Conway the Machine]
Whippin' yay at the fiend house
Tuck the yopper in the fiend couch
'07, light Dutches, n*gga
My gun game, you can't f*ck with, n*gga
Break both shins, put you on crutches, n*gga
Po-po at the door you better flush it, n*gga
He sold 19, only a bird left

[Chorus: Conway the Machine]
D's kicked his door and found it, that's his third F
D's kicked his door and found it, that's his third F
D's kicked his door and found it, hold up

[Verse 2: Conway the Machine]
Look, since 15 been a TEC shooter
Did a stretch, came home big as Lex Luger
Grilled lobster with the conch fritters
Griselda, b*tch, who can f*ck with us?
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
'Bout to lock the game up and bury the master key
Had the foreign parked at my crime spot
Stick on the back seat if the dram' pop
40 dollar ace, lyin' around block
I know I ain't sh*t, I even sold my mom rocks
Free the gangstas in Clinton Max and Comstock
Attica and Wyoming, Albion, the guys know me
Might go see my jeweller, buy 5 Rollies
Just to remind myself, it's my time homie
Bodies on the blicky, hit his body with the .50
Shot shotty 'til it flippy
Catch a body then I'm probably in the Masi doin' 60
In Atlanta smokin' sour, ain't nobody f*ckin' with me
I'm a legend in the flesh, respect me like your father
f*ck them pus*y n*ggas, I will hit 'em with the carbon
Put you on the front of a t-shirt, we merk whoever, n*gga
[Interlude: Raekwon]
Yeah man, little n*ggas better be careful, man
Them little n*ggas out there man, playin', man
Playin' them big drums, n*gga
Be careful, man, for real, man
It's Griselda life, n*gga, Wu-Tang, n*gga
That's right, for real
Hold the fort 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 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 S's, 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 dip
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 runs frenetic, I runs the cabinet, that gun's Ben Affleck
I drag flips, get caught in the cross like Catholics
I hold a black slips, I slap tricks, I mack slick
You dap di*ks, clowns get found naked in black whips
And sign him 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 ya soul