Benny the Butcher, Conway the Machine, Westside Gunn and Rick Hyde - Griselda Express
YeahI know they keep wondering
I know they keep wondering when this shit gon' stop
Huh, time
Ain't such thing as time, time is man-made
You know I mean?
But real shit though
Even if it was, this shit'll never stop
Ah
And that's on Machine Gun Black, uh
I'm the who coined the griddy slogan
The Butcher coming
G.X.F., Semicolon, B.S.F.
Griselda Express
How many really rode it?
I lost count when I dropped B.O.p., they watch me O.T.
But since they don't rhyme on this peak
They gon' try to copy those beats
So protect your aura
They put spells, wretched corners taught Butch well
How ironic, that eight foot cell turn my brain cells to book shelves
Niggas who brag they never took deals getting cooked still
And my foot still on rappers necks who got their hand-me-down careers from the Goodwill
I'm betting heavy, let's get ready, my last record was record setting
Def Jam let me in the building, turned the boardroom to Satriale's
Okay, y'all could rap, but ain't no way y'all could lap a true hustler
Who thought his way off the Ave, an advance got paid out in cash
I own the masters to a few of my classics, bank cards not plastic
The plug series mine, that's why you could only pray y'all could catch us
They hate on the great soldiers, make you some cake and pay all your taxes
And I could never flake 'cause being a real nigga pays automatic
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that?)
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that?)
Why it shoot like that?
Been stylin', six deep in the Maybach truck
Got the bitch piling (skrrt)
Hopped out the two-tone Balenci', ski-mask smiling (uh, ah)
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that?)
Why it shoot like that?
Hit like five extra niggas, I'm on shit like that
Scoreboard look like, "Oh Lord, them niggas spit right back" (look)
Praying for clean money abundantly
Humbly, hoping my ambitions don't crumble me
It's one of me, niggas ain't authentic, niggas wanna be
My reputation precedes me, I need at least a hunnid piece (that money)
Your worth wrong, niggas think they rappers 'cause they verse long
My last show, they sung my shit in unison like church songs
Ask about me, green off of brown like earth tones
I turn that to a eighty point split once the merch gone
It never was no route for us
Fentanyl outpouring
You wanna get some money in my city, get a house for it (get a house for it)
A fiend bought me a Samsung and a blender like a housewarming (yeah)
Gave that nigga six bags out the bundle, he was out for it
It was so worth it, K9 unit because the dog working
Straight Yams, twenty piece tender that serve a soul purpose
Sawed off, call it Marsha Brady 'cause the nose broken
Shoot that shit in California, heard that shit in Hoboken
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that?)
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that?)
Why it shoot like that?
Been stylin', six deep in the Maybach truck
Got the bitch piling (skrrt)
Hopped out the two-tone Balenci', ski-mask smiling (uh, ah)
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that?)
Why it shoot like that?
Hit like five extra niggas, I'm on shit like that
Scoreboard look like, "Oh Lord, them niggas spit right back" (look)
Look
Pulled a McLaren blue and orange out, leave the doors up
It look like Pat Ewing getting his warm up (talk to 'em)
This like the best run I had in some years (huh)
Customers loyal like Spike Lee, we was selling Madison Squares
Do the research, them boys were starving
It was ugly for rap in this lane, we made it look like Lori Harvey (talk to 'em)
Nobody had to cosign for me
Had a room full of white like Michael Rubin Fourth of July party
My bitch got ass like Diana Ross daughter (uh-huh)
She wanted me to buy a gram of soft for her
Walk up in the spot, rich niggas can't keep they eyes off her (no cap)
Only thing she got is some good pussy they can buy off her (uh-huh)
They offer me the deals, I need the high offers
(You think I'll make that bag right)
That money good, but that contract ain't on the up and up
"Take the money and leave the masters," take the what, leave the what?
I'm counting up this paper cup, paper cut (yeah)
Fuck what I'm bringing to the table
When I'm the legs that hold the fucking table up
Won't let no record label play with us
Before I let my lights cut off and cable shut, I'm back to bagging yayo up
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that?)
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that?)
Why it shoot like that?
Been stylin', six deep in the Maybach truck
Got the bitch piling (skrrt)
Hopped out the two-tone Balenci', ski-mask smiling (uh, ah)
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that?)
Why it shoot like that?
Hit like five extra niggas, I'm on shit like that
Scoreboard look like, "Oh Lord, them niggas spit right back" (look)
The Griselda train ain't stoppin', the Griselda train ain't stoppin'
The Griselda train ain't stoppin', the Griselda train ain't stoppin'
The Griselda train ain't stoppin', the Griselda train ain't stoppin'
The Griselda train ain't stoppin', the Griselda train ain't stoppin'
The Griselda train ain't stoppin', the Griselda train ain't stoppin'
The Griselda train ain't stoppin', the Griselda train ain't stoppin'
The Griselda train ain't stoppin', the Griselda train ain't stoppin'
The Griselda train ain't stoppin', the Griselda train ain't stoppin'
Written by:
Alan Maman, Alvin Worthy, Demond Price, Jeremie Pennick, Rick Hyde
Publisher:
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Reservoir Media Management, Inc.
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