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Corrección Letra
Helicopter Homicide
par
Conway the Machine
Regreso
Letra
La musica de Harry Fraud Ayy, yeah That b*t*h you call your wife was my first ho I use to dress her on the blade in my fur coat Now you kiss her on the mouth, she used to sniff coke I had her on the same strip where they sell dope No shame in it, posting a** off my cell phone The homies looking at you like a yeedo or a come up Something in the set that they could feed on I did my thing up in these streets and that's on P-funk Spraying paint up on these breakers, blood drip, I get my bleed on Pouring fours of the Wock', I get my lean on Sh*t ain't been thе same since G Wee gone Couplе more fed' years Face will be full of those tattoo tears When you come home, we gon' whip you in jet Lears Where I bodied in the set, had to burn this b*t*h down Ho was greener than the Grinch, had to turn this b*t*h out Yeah, look, uh These n***as rap real good, but never seen paper We major, n***a, the Ms about to be a teenager Conway Machine and Harry fraud beat cremator From where young n***as push Trackhawks, like they Speed Racer (Vroom) Convertor switch on Glockianna with the green laser (Uh-huh) They tough on Internet, but pu**y when they see you later (Pu**y) A splash of pineapple juice, my Casa Mi' chaser B*t*hes see me skip to my Lou, like they seen Rafer (Ha) Yo, why these n***as always need favors? (Huh?) I'm tryna own a bunch of land, dawg, I need acres (Talk to 'em) Do this sh*t independently, I don't need majors Taking a lion's share of the bag Owning the art when I'm the creator (In yo' bag) The difference with us is y'all givers and we takers (Uh-huh) Ball up a Russian cream and let the weed take us Told n***as I'ma touch hundred Ms Them n***as sneezed at the thought, but they gonna see later Machine (Look at 'em now) Uh, no problem, you need somebody to blame? Just say my name and I will appear Just hit my promoter, you could book me for any arraignment Book me for your crime scene, uh, book me for your shooting I'll be there, oh, I'll be there, yes It's me JuJu, Mr. Three for Twenty-Five Akademiks jeans I jump out, burners in both hands And I'm shooting and spittin' Helicopter homicide If I go, we gonna all go Gasoline bath the block Flacco, light it
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