Dunks

[Intro: Conway the Machine] Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin for his seed remaineth in him And he cannot sin, because he is born of God Buck! Yo Griselda, by Fashion Rebels Hold up [Verse 1: Westside Gunn & Conway the Machine] Ayo, arm, leg, leg, arm, head Dread said put the TEC in the leg, then sick the Heckler instead His baby moms got his head in her lap, screamin' that he dead I learned to politic ditto in the feds Cherry X-7, see me on tour with the Wesson Learn your lesson, my man got eighty-one, stressing Never seen his kids once, you fake niggas front Pucci trench coat, everything new but the pump 2K for the dunks, the SBs Gianni swim trunks on jet skis Threw the gat away, leave his face in his madam's plate Saddam told me, "Hit the gravel and agitate" Spot makin' 20K a day, easy Chopped the nigga hands off for his brick, steady greasy I make this fly shit look easy Finnish Guess, the guests were in the kitchen Flippin', you broke niggas better pay attention (Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo) Hahahaha (Griselda) Look Listen [Verse 2: Conway the Machine] Hold the torch to the wax pipe I'm a torch, you a match strike Before you talk, get your facts right Nigga, I'll beat a fucking cop with his own flashlight, I ain't wrapped tight (Hahahaha) Two hundred bars? Nigga, that's light Riccardo Tisci black Nikes, the MAC-11, got it half-price ('Kay) A glass of 'gnac, splash the ice My life's a roll of the craps dice, blow the strap, plus I rap nice Woo, probably bring it to your doorstep Had amigo wrappin' before Offset (Talk to 'em) Heh, probably went over your head I said, "I had 'migo wrappin' 'em before Offset" (Hah) Nigga, that's wrappin' up a square You rapping 'bout the trap when you actually wasn't there (Where was you?) I swear, a lot of new rappers is weird They wearing leggings and dyeing they fucking hair (Hahahaha) I swear, gotta admit I'm that nigga In the last two years, show me who did it bigger (Huh?) Rocking furs for the winter I might put fox on like '96 Jigga (Woo) Real niggas follow the codes Lil' homie was fourteen, six bodies, nigga out of control I'ma put the pot on the stove for a knot I can hold Told the cops to suck a cock, nigga, I didn't fold In V.I.P., twenty bitches, all the bottles is gold Your WCW wanna swallow me whole As do a lot of these hoes Balenciaga with the croc on the toes You niggas pussy, y'all finally got exposed (I see through y'all niggas) I'm on my motherfucking job These niggas wanna be king, but what's a king to a god? (Ah) I'm really 'bout that action, homie, that ain't no façade In the booth, I'm DeAndre Jordan catching the lob ('Kay) [Outro] Nosotros... Somos bandidos No sapos, hijueputa Hahahahahaha....! No impor– ¡Los van a matar a todos, hijueputas! ¡Todos están muertos, hijueputas!