Benz Window

[Intro]

You know how we can purchase a couple of TEC-9, semi-automatics, extended magazines?

Hold on, who? TEC-9's? The fuck for?

It's a family problem

[Chorus: Conway the Machine]

Green light, nigga

Uh

Give them niggas the drum (Lock and load)

Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Brr!)

Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun (Hahahaha!)

Fifty on his head—his own shooters get it done ('Kay)

[Verse 1: Conway the Machine]

Pyrex pot got the yola resi' (Whip up)

Shooter fifteen with the sweeper, hold it steady

James Patterson with the pen, I'm writin' thrillers

I write it for killers, they treat my words like Bible scriptures ('Kay)

Had the youngin fire the blicker

Tryna peel a cap, for that contract, he never seen that type of scrilla (Nah)

I ain't like these weirdo rappers, I'm a psycho, nigga

Grimy like Tyson in '90, nigga, you Bryson Tiller (Hah)

Homie, that's on dogs, I never liked you niggas

Hit you with some shit out of this automatic rifle, nigga (Brr!)

Praise me, I'm like Christ to niggas

Them lost niggas was blind, I dropped this shit and gave sight to niggas

Load the M-16 rockin' Supreme

Nowadays they don't make diss songs, they makin' memes

'Til I find 'em and run down on 'em and let it ring

Bitch, it ain't a rapper alive fuckin' with the Machine (Not at all)

[Chorus: Conway the Machine]

Give them niggas the drum (Green light 'em)

Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Brr!)

Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun (Hah!)

Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done ('Kay)

Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Huh)

Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done (Hahahaha!)

[Verse 2: Conway the Machine]

Look, the shooter squeezing, he a heathen when he snort

M-16 ringing, leave you bleeding on your porch (Brrt!)

Look, you keep running your dicksuckers, that's the reason you a corpse

Water whip it up, I'm seasoned with the fork (Whip it up)

I'm blowin' money up in Neiman for the sport (Blow it all)

Ran up in Fally's, bet I'm leavin' in the Porsche

Got pulled, bailed out, and I ain't even go to court (Hah!)

My homie say my flow raw like the ki's that he import, woah

You talkin' like you that official when you clap yo' pistol

I drop a bag on you and have my savage get you

Chopper chop your body up, it's lookin' like some axes hit you (Woo!)

Fuck you and them faggot niggas rappin' with you

Shout out my B-more homie that love to clap his whistle (What up, my nigga?)

Hit a pussy nigga' snapback with missiles (Boom!)

Empty the whole magazine (Huh)

Give them the drum with love from the Machine

[Chorus: Conway the Machine & Prodigy]

Give them niggas the drum (Green light, uh)

Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Brr, Blam-blam-blam-blam-blam, blam-blam!)

Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun (Hah!)

Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done ('Kay, Yo, Conway, man)

(Yeah, holler at these niggas)

Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Huh? Matter of fact, let me get that, let me get that)

(Take this bitch-ass nigga' head off)

Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done (Hahahaha!)

[Verse 3: Prodigy]

Go lookin' for a nigga, I catch him at his stomp ground

Hop out with the blocka, brrap him and his boys down

High-level violence, maximum overload

Pussy niggas cryin' like, "P, you took it overboard"

My pops raised a gangsta, and you just a bird to me

I don't give a shit who you shot, who you murked, homie

Name ringin' bells, I give him his first L

And he was so sure that I was so soft

Shots flashed like the lightning, it's heavy-metal gear

He let his fear overpower his mind to think clear

All these bullets set your beard on fire

When weird-ass niggas come fuckin' with live ones

When real-ass niggas come fuckin' with a no-fuck-givin'-ass nigga

Coroner takin' pictures of your body sliced open, you're posed for the autopsy

Oh, these niggas tellin'? Well, tell 'em send more cops

P, I'm at your neck

She said, "You tattooin' tears? But ain't even kill a pussy yet?"

I fucked the truth out her, confessin' her sins

She tell me everything, how I know where your momma live, uh

Later for a bitch, I'm busy, holler back soon

The paper boy, Empire State boy

Wrap whosoever in my way up, clowns with the make-up

You Ronald McDonald, face fucked, eyes straight up

Paint more red on your forehead

I don't want your jewelry, nigga, I just want you dead

I don't want your money, you gon' pay me with your soul

And I'ma drink red rum from your skull, uh

[Chorus: Conway the Machine]

Give them niggas the drum (Green light 'em)

Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Brr!)

Youngin' droppin' bodies like it's fun (Hah!)

Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done ('Kay)

Roll down the Benz window, let off twenty-one (Huh?)

Fifty on his head—his own shooters'll get it done (Hahahaha!)

[Production by Daringer]