| Griselda, we where the smoke at, ay
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| Facts, nigga
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| I told him, I said, «West, call me when you want the dirty work done»
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| Feeling hot already
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| Yo, let’s go, look, yo
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| I got a large bag of clips, hard hats, and sticks
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| My squad tagging shit, y’all catch attempts
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| You leave the house, have some sense, nigga, grab the blick
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| My lil homie left without it and I ain’t get to dap him since
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| My slime think we homies so he call me Bloody
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| It’s a blessing when your plug let you short him 20
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| On parole, I was going all in with ten
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| These funny hustlers out here owing more than they spend
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| She fuck with you, you buy her a Chanel watch
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| She fly out with twelve blocks, I buy her a nail shop
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| I listened to the lies in their lines that they tell, shocked
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| Six months before I signed, had a pie in the mailbox
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| I heard they sick about me rapping ‘bout the drugs I stretch
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| I’ma write a whole album ‘bout the plugs I met
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| Uh, my dog came home, we told him, «Welcome back»
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| First day out, bought a .40 and a Griselda tat
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| I don’t got no new friends, that’s how you get loose ends
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| I need that Benz truck, yeah, that great white with two fins
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| Major deal for what? |
| Uh, that’s gon' cost him two Ms
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| Truth is, I’ma clear a half a million before New Years
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| These lil niggas satisfied with BAPE outfits
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| I need a Wraith out it, big shit, lake houses
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| I’m talking condos just for safe houses, Space Mountain
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| I’m tryna see so much bread, I gotta take counselling
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| Y’all like these rappers, but I don’t find it amusing, no
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| I don’t buy they movement, so I don’t buy their music
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| I wrote get rich manuals where I provide the blueprint
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| And with pride, I preach this new shit, just like I’m inside a pulpit
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| Top of the year, I came and woke these niggas up
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| Made they names sound different when I spoke these niggas up
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| I stay hungry just laying my hustle down
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| Ain’t no fucking around with Benny and Uncle Al
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| Griselda, the Butcher coming, nigga
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| In this game, you take some losses, I was straight, I ate with bosses
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| On my plate, that yay was flawless, we out in Vegas racing Porsches
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| My dawgs laid in coffins, one died in a shootout
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| No bullets left, he got slept tryna change his cartridge
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| Caught my nephew with some work, I guess he caught himself trapping with it
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| I said, «Just know the consequences if they catch you with it
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| Nah, I ain’t mad you dealing, hit me, I send it at you, nigga
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| And show you how to ship it with bubble wrap and a vacuum sealer»
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| The Butcher coming, y’all know the motto
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| Those Sopranos had fiends smoking white outta Sprite soda bottles
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| Mob boss like I’m Joe Todaro
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| My dollars long and my plug got a farm like he Old MacDonald
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| I’m the boss, so where they go, they follow
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| It’s penalties for touching me, so just be careful where you throw them hollows
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| I sold dope like it was no tomorrow
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| That got me cash and my watch glass like it’s made of broken bottles
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| The Butcher coming, nigga
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| Ay |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Broken Bottles , by - Benny the Butcher. Song from the album Tana Talk 3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп