[Intro: Ransom]
Ayo, ay, Don, ayo, pa–
Yeah, turn it up
Ayo, pass that, pass that, god
Yeah, nah, nah, nah, that
The Montegave, the Montegave, yeah
That's that premium shit right there, yeah
Bet you these niggas ain't see this one coming
Ayo, Machine, you already know
Let's bring that fucking chaos, that terror
[Verse 1: Conway the Machine]
Ayo, they still trying to find a flaw
I write the bars that's just stories of the ghettos through the eyes of God
Me and the Devil had a fire spark
Left him getting the lap dance from Nas X in a designer bra
Coming up, we aspired to buy a pie of raw
Then we moved on to cyber fraud as time evolved
I mean, a bullet paralyzed my jaw
Still niggas top fives and all, imagine if I started trying hard
You boys ain't built for the trenches, you just too brittle
My man got hit twice, drove himself to the 'spital
They tough in an interview, when you see them, they actin civil
Plus, I built my brand up too big to try to be little
Momma, there go that man again (Woo, brr, doot-doot-doot-doot-doot)
Yeah, the order come in from Cali, I meet him in Cincinnati
The music industry, Aggie, I'm staying indie like Haile, bitch
[Hook: Ransom]
These underhanded heathens
Running rampant, gunning slanting, squeezing
We in and out them precincts
Shootouts in local bars on the weekends
Technical fouls, flags on the defense
God's blessing their child that's lacking the street sense
These underhanded heathens
Running rampant, gunning slanting, squeezing
We in and out them precincts
Shootouts in local bars on the weekends
Technical fouls, flags on the defense
God's blessing their child that's lacking the street sense
[Verse 2: Ransom]
There's not a day that goes by that I'm not the greatest
Display the bitter class and think you qualified the grade list
No matter how much money you stack, you're not on my A-list
The blackest grouch on a slave ship
A nightmare to addicts when crack was out on the grave shift
I turned avenues into cemeteries and corner stores to court to law
Slamming the gavel, battle the lords of war
Bodies in the corridor
Bullets enter his stomach, then exit his lower back
Every clap is given his core a door
Haunted by demons but I fought 'em off
Cold stares, scared of his sixth sense
Hear the gruesome tales of a slaughtered whore
It's chaos, every day I'm feeling it more and more
Who cares if God's winning if Satan's gonna ignore the score?
Every street song I wrote for this movie is scored by V. Don
No time for the poor peasants and peons
We need money like Elon
You ain't worth the rug that I wipe feet one, Celine like Dion
We out here til the street lights creep on
Scriptures that's written about a sheet long
Tatted so we can recite each arm
Black fatigues, squatting on the opps doing recon
Relax and squeeze, stop and send them shots out a Nissan
[Hook: Ransom]
These underhanded heathens
Running rampant, gunning slanting, squeezing
We in and out them precincts
Shootouts in local bars on the weekends
Technical fouls, flags on the defense
God's blessing their child that's lacking the street sense
These underhanded heathens
Running rampant, gunning slanting, squeezing
We in and out them precincts
Shootouts in local bars on the weekends
Technical fouls, flags on the defense
God's blessing their child that's lacking the street sense
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