Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Crack In The Nineties, artist - CONWAY THE MACHINE. Album song From King To A GOD, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 17.12.2020
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Drumwork, EMPIRE, Griselda
Song language: English
Crack In The Nineties |
Break the brick up in little pieces, all my guns is Middle Eastern |
I’ma continue feastin', I ain’t finished eatin' (Facts) |
Lemon squeeze’ll have you sent to Jesus |
With a pen I been elite, will send my delinquents to run up in the precinct |
(Uh-huh) |
Been on the street shit since the prices was on some eighteen a ki' shit |
You don’t want smoke, you wanna tweet shit (Hahahaha), look |
Push the Cullinan through the ghetto on some Meek shit |
With a R&B chick that I’m 'bout to go sink my teeth in (Ha) |
New chrome MAC, I hit him, heard a few bones crack |
That killer shit, my whole crew on that |
Niggas throwin' rocks at my throne, I just shoot chrome back |
Trust me, my gun go off, that’s a true known fact (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, |
boom) |
Brought my hood bitch to Cali and she flew home packed (Ha) |
You could be eatin' too, my nigga, but you don’t stack (You eatin' too) |
Two-tone 'Bach, not a rental, I do own that (Cap) |
In the booth, I’m livin' proof like I’m Group Home Dap (Talk to 'em) |
Gave the homie a few more stacks, he sendin' bullets through your hat (Boom, |
boom) |
He swing the stick like Pujols' bat (Hahahaha) |
AMG, G-Wagen, you know who drove that |
We do those matte, we shoot poles into your back (Brr) |
And don’t you dare run, uh |
We shoot pole into your back (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, |
boom, boom), look |
Bust down, Byzantine link, ice in the cross |
Is like flawless, wire crosses (Huh) |
Killer hit him close range, drained his life forces, blood on his white Forces |
(Cap) |
The smell of the corpse rottin' made him quite nauseous |
Bro got bundles of white, toss it out the window |
While I get the blue and whites off us, nigga (Throw that shit, nigga) |
A hundred thousand for a show, that’s a nice offer, Machine (Yo-yo, yo-yo, uh, |
yo-yo, check) |
For the paper, I coordinate a play with no Xs and Os (Uh-huh) |
His profession is flows, they deadly like when weapons explode (Brrah) |
I know some niggas talkin' down who hit consecutive lows (Uh-huh) |
While gradually, my decimals rose, like fans in the stands, section, |
and rows when exitin' shows (Come on) |
Stare me down and you get picked off, like corners when expectin' the throws |
(Hahahaha) |
Carnivorous when spittin' it, I split the flesh from the bones (Uh-huh) |
They gas him like indigestion when ingestin' his poems (Talk that talk) |
That’s food for thought, non-genetically modified |
My headspace is classified, not heavily occupied (Yeah, grrah) |
The shit I’m draftin', not even Mel Kiper could make a mock of mines (Never) |
It’s hard to get clear, like Concord 11 soles that’s oxidized (Ha) |
I’m dope personified, see, my drive is vehicular homicide |
The playin' field will never be level 'cause we are not aligned (Nah) |
I seen things on the east side that left me traumatized |
My stories authentic, you gotta honor mine |
It’s slaughter time, that’s word to Myers and Voorhees |
I been grindin' for more things, like a Rollie and Porsche keys, |
look (Let's get it) |
Of course he’s bossed and boss cross with the raw gleam |
Every song that I’m on get charbroiled, the god’s mean (Talk that talk) |
I’m young Revolver Ocelot clappin' at Solid Snake |
My brain as sharp as surgical scalpels when I operate (Ha) |
At seventeen, all I prayed for was pussy and Aqua 8s |
Now blue faces all in my pockets, they overpopulate |
I got it straight, 10K for a verse, that’s a modest play, I oughta say (Huh, |
huh) |
I need 'bout eighty for a feature now (Look) |
Raised by a hustler, bitch, you should try and talk me down (Uh) |
I was in the hood beggin' for hope and they were not around (No) |
Now I’m sellin' crack and servin' dope and sendin' chopper sounds (Uh) |
Need me like the Pope, I sell 'em soap, still they a block around (Uh) |
Slave like talkin' Jesus, like the boat, wait |
My kitchen got a load and it reeks, right next to the grease (Uh) |
We fry fish a Friday a week, we told the police |
If I should die from holdin' a ki', my soldiers’ll keep (Uh) |
Swear, I ain’t ever told 'em a peep, I profit in sleep |
Me, you know the smell when the stove on, he positively at 'em like a proton |
That’s stiff with the batter like crowbar (Stiff with the batter, nigga) |
It’s my turn, I learned to hustle, I earned it (Uh) |
Know the smell of coke burnin' like a unclean furnace (Unclean furnace) |
Told myself that I’d be different, tried ownin' a business (Shit) |
But, shit, I wrote my by-laws from what I learned in them trenches (Damn) |
I can’t get a street nigga out my rich-ass interest |
You won’t get a brick from me, nigga, 'less your bitch-ass sniff it ('Less your |
bitch-ass sniff it) |
Ever seen a quarter in cash just sittin' in stash? |
(Huh) |
Wrist water, make a big splash, brick takin' a bath (Huh) |
Don’t let these niggas make you think we don’t play |
Get him robbed at a ménage just for thinkin' we gay (Nah) |
Tryna make it out the cold, hittin' roads, splittin' toes |
It’s understood, gotta get lows to hit goals (Uh) |
I come in the booth and question the truth of who you think the greatest (Look) |
I’m testin' the proof 'cause most of these dudes should’ve kept their latest |
(They should’ve kept that shit) |
I love when a hater get a shooter (Uh), I lose a dollar, you lose your medulla |
(Facts) |
Then I go and make a play in Ashtabula (Uh) |
I’m shinin' like I’m Kent or Rick the Ruler (Uh) |
So much blow pitched on the low, it’s like a tuba (Hahaha) |
This crack, you ain’t shit but a consumer (Uh) |
I rap like I’m sick or got a tumor (Uh) |
Relapse when I hit you with this blue one (Uh) |
Relax when that stick goes by my shooter (Wait) |
This pack kept you sit up like a doula, shit fire like Azula (Woo) |
Lord, I mean, I’m only followin' the steps you’re ordering (Ordering) |
Don’t really think they understand what your daughter means |
Way different (Go), I’ma shoot shots (Go), Blake Griffin (Go) |
I’m Medusa, my praise different |
Bitch, east side, I was raised different, 7xve |