CORRECTAR LA LETRA
Letra : The Machine & TEK
I got [?]
Yeah, n***a
New York gritty sh*t, n***a
East side Buffalo sh*t, n***a
Brownsville, Bucktown, Brooklyn sh*t, n***a
It ain't no games, f**k n***a
Ain't nobody playin' with you n***as
Look
Trash bags on the sticks (Ha?)
Homemade ski masks, I spaz when I flip (No cap)
Hurricane wrist, mad glass gettin' whipped
From a half to a brick, had mad n***as sick (Haaa)
You n***as mad, I see it all in they faces
Their stomachs start hurtin' when I pulled up in that spaceship
Had them n***as hurt, I might drop a bag, have them n***as murked (Uh-huh)
And that's if I don't clap them n***as first (Brrr)
Dash through Saks to get a shirt (Yuh)
Neil Barrett tee, six-hundred, I had to get it first (You know, the fly sh*t)
I had a fully automatic get to work (Yeah)
It'd be tragic to see your favorite rapper in a hearse
Rest in peace, n***a (Dead bwoy), you just a rapper, lil' homie
I'm a street n***a, gеt your sh*t bust to the white meat, n***a (Wig shot)
Mix thе sour with the kief, n***a (Smokin')
Any issue, b*t*h, we'll squeeze blicka (Brrr)
Machine, n***a (What?)
I don't wear Balmains, n***as (Naw)
The grip can't fit up in them jeans, n***as (Ow)
I'm from the era of the crack spots (Crack spots)
Where fiends suck your d**k for a small rock (Small rock)
The 90s run tings (Run tings)
Brooklyn, Buffalo, drug rings (Drug rings)
Respect pon respect
Big up ya chest, it's the Machine and the Tek, boh! (Brrrr)
Got a few shooters in the uber, n***a
Chopper so big, look like they blowin' tubas, n***a
Pulled up, threw the Sprinter door
With that new stick that you never saw before (I got it)
I finger-f**ked the trigger, homie
The look on his face at his death, could tell he know me
I said, "Please don't ever try me, n***a
God is good, already beat one hommy, n***a" (Ow)
New bucks on the construct
Tell these young bucks, "Boy, don't press your dumb luck" (Naw)
Hair full of waves, no part
You ass n***as full of sh*t, no heart
Sweatshirt Givenchy, you know the rest
That gorilla and that glue beatin' on my chest (That's that loud)
They say they want that old Tek back
Trust me when I tell you, naw, you don't want that (Yup)
I don't wear Balmains, n***as (Naw)
The grip can't fit up in them jeans, n***as (Ow)
I'm from the era of the crack spots (Crack spots)
Where fiends suck your d**k for a small rock (Small rock)
The 90s run tings (Run tings)
Brooklyn, Buffalo, drug rings (Drug rings)
Respect pon respect
Big up ya chest, it's the Machine and the Tek, boh!
I don't wear Balmains (Naw)
(Ow)
Crack spots
Small rocks
Run tings
Drug rings
Big up ya chest, it's the Machine and the Tek, boh!
Yeah, n***a
New York gritty sh*t, n***a
East side Buffalo sh*t, n***a
Brownsville, Bucktown, Brooklyn sh*t, n***a
It ain't no games, f**k n***a
Ain't nobody playin' with you n***as
Look
Trash bags on the sticks (Ha?)
Homemade ski masks, I spaz when I flip (No cap)
Hurricane wrist, mad glass gettin' whipped
From a half to a brick, had mad n***as sick (Haaa)
You n***as mad, I see it all in they faces
Their stomachs start hurtin' when I pulled up in that spaceship
Had them n***as hurt, I might drop a bag, have them n***as murked (Uh-huh)
And that's if I don't clap them n***as first (Brrr)
Dash through Saks to get a shirt (Yuh)
Neil Barrett tee, six-hundred, I had to get it first (You know, the fly sh*t)
I had a fully automatic get to work (Yeah)
It'd be tragic to see your favorite rapper in a hearse
Rest in peace, n***a (Dead bwoy), you just a rapper, lil' homie
I'm a street n***a, gеt your sh*t bust to the white meat, n***a (Wig shot)
Mix thе sour with the kief, n***a (Smokin')
Any issue, b*t*h, we'll squeeze blicka (Brrr)
Machine, n***a (What?)
I don't wear Balmains, n***as (Naw)
The grip can't fit up in them jeans, n***as (Ow)
I'm from the era of the crack spots (Crack spots)
Where fiends suck your d**k for a small rock (Small rock)
The 90s run tings (Run tings)
Brooklyn, Buffalo, drug rings (Drug rings)
Respect pon respect
Big up ya chest, it's the Machine and the Tek, boh! (Brrrr)
Got a few shooters in the uber, n***a
Chopper so big, look like they blowin' tubas, n***a
Pulled up, threw the Sprinter door
With that new stick that you never saw before (I got it)
I finger-f**ked the trigger, homie
The look on his face at his death, could tell he know me
I said, "Please don't ever try me, n***a
God is good, already beat one hommy, n***a" (Ow)
New bucks on the construct
Tell these young bucks, "Boy, don't press your dumb luck" (Naw)
Hair full of waves, no part
You ass n***as full of sh*t, no heart
Sweatshirt Givenchy, you know the rest
That gorilla and that glue beatin' on my chest (That's that loud)
They say they want that old Tek back
Trust me when I tell you, naw, you don't want that (Yup)
I don't wear Balmains, n***as (Naw)
The grip can't fit up in them jeans, n***as (Ow)
I'm from the era of the crack spots (Crack spots)
Where fiends suck your d**k for a small rock (Small rock)
The 90s run tings (Run tings)
Brooklyn, Buffalo, drug rings (Drug rings)
Respect pon respect
Big up ya chest, it's the Machine and the Tek, boh!
I don't wear Balmains (Naw)
(Ow)
Crack spots
Small rocks
Run tings
Drug rings
Big up ya chest, it's the Machine and the Tek, boh!
