Sigel in State Prop
Uh, yeah, lemme see that 'gnac, nigga, uh, let me get a light, uh
Look, my shooter going for his eighth body (kay)
Half a cake on the table, clean your plate, Bobby (sniff!)
Keep a K by me, back seat of the grey Mazi' (uhuh)
Shot in my head and lived, I'm the nigga you can't body (haaah!)
My dawg went upstate for a robbery
They gave him 15, been down four
He'll be home in another eight probably (nigga's sure)
Nigga, we had beef with
Was in the same jail thinking he safe probably
Left the meat, hanging off his face sloppy (put that in, my nigga)
Yeah, a yam of white go for a handsome price
Whip them grams 'til night
Turn on that cold water, hand me ice
Dip my hands in ice, bitches see how my wrist is dancing, yikes! (you see it, right?)
Them racks I ran I stack my bands up Tyson Chandler height (hahahaha!)
Snatched the phantom white
Your bitch said I'm that nigga, damn, you right (I guess you right, baby)
My safe look like I pulled off the Lufthansa Heist (haaah)
Ratchet, blam, goodnight
I'm The Machine, bitch, don't hand me mics
God flow, I slap one of these rappers with the hands of Christ
On Grammy night, look, don't talk to me 'bout how you trapping either
You can't afford it, or I don't fuck with you, so don't ask for features (don't ask me for no fucking features)
I'm back in Neiman's spending racks on sneakers (uhuh)
Copped the Balenciagas, rocking Raf Adidas
Dawg was selling dog food, I thought all he had was reefer (I thought you had OG, nigga)
This nigga had his hands on boy like a catholic preacher (you had this the whole time, nigga?)
This that animal rough shit
I'm with the same shooters that I ran through the cut with (brrrrr)
Griselda, motherfuckers, we don't stand for no fuck shit (uh)
I'm Sigel in State property, what hand you roll up with? (Hahahaha!)
(Boom! Who you roll up with!?)
This for them niggas still selling base (kay)
Married to the streets, smoking wedding cake (cap)
MAC-11 by the waist, the felons can't relate (uhuh)
Even Warren G respect the way I Regulate (hahaha!)
My youngin shooting like he Lillard, he don't hesitate (brr)
And every time we score on the opps, we gotta celebrate (boom boom boom!)
Machine
Look, my shooter going for his eighth body (kay)
Half a cake on the table, clean your plate, Bobby (sniff!)
Keep a K by me, back seat of the grey Mazi' (uhuh)
Shot in my head and lived, I'm the nigga you can't body (haaah!)
My dawg went upstate for a robbery
They gave him 15, been down four
He'll be home in another eight probably (nigga's sure)
Nigga, we had beef with
Was in the same jail thinking he safe probably
Left the meat, hanging off his face sloppy (put that in, my nigga)
Yeah, a yam of white go for a handsome price
Whip them grams 'til night
Turn on that cold water, hand me ice
Dip my hands in ice, bitches see how my wrist is dancing, yikes! (you see it, right?)
Them racks I ran I stack my bands up Tyson Chandler height (hahahaha!)
Snatched the phantom white
Your bitch said I'm that nigga, damn, you right (I guess you right, baby)
My safe look like I pulled off the Lufthansa Heist (haaah)
Ratchet, blam, goodnight
I'm The Machine, bitch, don't hand me mics
God flow, I slap one of these rappers with the hands of Christ
On Grammy night, look, don't talk to me 'bout how you trapping either
You can't afford it, or I don't fuck with you, so don't ask for features (don't ask me for no fucking features)
I'm back in Neiman's spending racks on sneakers (uhuh)
Copped the Balenciagas, rocking Raf Adidas
Dawg was selling dog food, I thought all he had was reefer (I thought you had OG, nigga)
This nigga had his hands on boy like a catholic preacher (you had this the whole time, nigga?)
This that animal rough shit
I'm with the same shooters that I ran through the cut with (brrrrr)
Griselda, motherfuckers, we don't stand for no fuck shit (uh)
I'm Sigel in State property, what hand you roll up with? (Hahahaha!)
(Boom! Who you roll up with!?)
This for them niggas still selling base (kay)
Married to the streets, smoking wedding cake (cap)
MAC-11 by the waist, the felons can't relate (uhuh)
Even Warren G respect the way I Regulate (hahaha!)
My youngin shooting like he Lillard, he don't hesitate (brr)
And every time we score on the opps, we gotta celebrate (boom boom boom!)
Machine
Credits
Writer(s): Demond Price, Thomas A. Paladino
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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