Astral Plane

[Intro] (This is a true story of extreme violence, brutality and fear These are the real Sopranos) [Verse 1: Conway the Machine] I'm back maneuverin', packs movin' in Fuck you and your big homie I will clap you and him (Fuck that nigga) As far as rap, I will ruin him I'm the biggest thing in New York since the Knicks brought Pat Ewing in (Haa) I'm a OG, fuck is you thinkin'? (Huh?) Neck full of trinkets, Just Dons lookin' pinkish (You know the Jordans) Fuck niggas talk my ears off about linkin' (Psh) But if you ain't talkin' money, then why the fuck is you speakin'? (Why is you talkin', boy?) Heh, my shooter on stand-by (Uh-huh) That nigga dump six, I bet he land five (Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot) Sit it underneath the fan, let them grams dry Flip it, then we up in Blue Flame lettin' bands fly (Hahahaha) Fourteen-hundred, Dsquared² that's who my pants by (Uh-huh) I'm the illest nigga doin' it by a landslide (That's a fact, nigga) Ayo, Hottest, what the word, nigga? (What up, homie?) Nigga get outta pocket, I'ma put his body on the curb, nigga (Brrt) [Verse 2: Duffel Bag Hottie] Grab ya shotty, ten slugs blow out his nerves, nigga (Boom, boom) Oh, you the plug, nigga? Let's see who can flip a bird quicker Syrup sipper, throw a four in a Sprite and hurl, nigga The four-pound twirl niggas Wanna die 'bout your girl, nigga? (Bro, you don't wanna die) I'll get you smoked, while you sittin' under palm trees They gon' go, if I signal or The Don sneeze I have my youngin' doin' drills for a Don C (Ahh) And I'm goin' with 'em, just to show him that I'm so official (Be a bull with him, too) Grammy nights, we totin' pistols under Versace suits Stay down to cop the coupe, Lovey dyin' to let this Tommy loose (Brrt) Body who? (Who?) I'm eatin' bullets like Robert Townsend (Bah) The .357 blow a nigga right out his trousers (Bah) Chase that friend, and I rack it up by the thousand Niggas mad I'm stylin' (Stylin'), he wish he had the heart to rob me Put some Molly in that lil' bitch drink, like I was Cosby (Haha) Twenty shots to the face, he gon' need him a cosmetologist Pussy, it's Griselda and the Mob, bitch (Yeah, it's the Mob) He claim he got bricks for thirty-three? Hold him hostage Ain't no fuckin' work in these streets (Ain't no work around), so we rob shit I'm a Black Soprano boss Salute me or get your top peeled, pussy (Brrt)