Lyrics Conway The Machine – Oil Money
Text:
Griselda, by Fashion Rebels…
Haha, the devil’s reject, nigga
Conway
See, that’s that’s the fuck is wrong with you niggas
Hahaha
Look, dark nights and cold mornings
Gunshots, no warnings
Some niggas will sell they soul just to keep some gold on ’em, uhh
Pockets swoll on him, Versace clothes on him
He, got the hoes on him, he lock the whole summer, who?
Me nigga, 3 grams in one swisher
I just pray that it’s a heaven for a young nigga
Leave the club, bet your bitch wanna come, nigga
I know that’s your girl, I drop her off when I’m done with her
Or put her in a cab
Leave my beef on the streets, you niggas put it in the lab
Niggas write in they phones, they don’t put it in the pad
I just body the beats, then I put it in a bag
Yeah, 850 for the rugby
I’m a hustler my nigga, I’m where the drugs be
My Westside Connection never drug free
Throw a Ice Cube in the pot and get a dub see (Dub-C)
State to state with the flake
When it come to the flow, I’m like Blake on a break
These niggas hate what I make
Never satisfied, nigga, I take and I take
Yeah, and I still keep a weapon close
Niggas that never did nothing for you expect the most
I’m still at it, even though I stress the most
These niggas dumb, deaf and broke
I’m on the road to riches, I hope my exit close
Pyrex got the resi’ in it
Top 5 dead or alive, I’m already in it, haha
The street shit I’m heavy in it
I hit the pussy it feel like I parked a Chevy in it, haha
Getting bent ’til I puke
Fifth of D’USSÉ, the sour scent in the coupe
Every dollar lent I re-coup
Juan Howard style, I play the bench in a suit
SE we run this shit, I mean that
Go tell them rapping-ass niggas The Machine back
