Conway - They k**ed Pookie lyrics

[Verse 1: Westside Gunn] Aye yo Aye yo my kicks cost $2000 Same wing for a week, but the money piling Caught a body up in Webster Hall I used to battle for commissary, I never lost The '86 salt and pepper sauce Fashion Week tiger sweeten up the catalogue Thought I seen Chine Gun so I got a ghost One head shot your brains, adios Chain on the S got chain Gave the fiends some work, they used the stove, I did my thing More money bring more p**y I ain't a rapper, n***a, don't push me Can't wait to see Bacon one day, and somebody die everyday my way Mister S.E. marvelous, the coupe 300 like Spartacus I'm from where your mom's on crack and your fatherless The SK, I stuck the cartridge in Fryin' work in the sk**et, mix the margarine I'm slaughterin' [Verse 2: Conway] I fold AR like a futon Body with a suit on like Brother Bouzone A thousand pounds of 'Zona straight from Tuscon My youngin let off a drum from back of a Yukon Jump out the Phantom, Don C 2 on Cuban weigh two kilos, I got two on Still reppin' the same blocks that I grew on Machine b**h I k** everything I spew on M-16's with the shell catchers I'll bet you rappin' a** n***as never felt pressure I like the Concord 11's, but the 12's fresher Movin' straight drop cuz it sell better We the illest, don't misconstrue, I stay with a b**h or two Stomp a bone out you in my Christian Lou Lift you off your feet, I get the blinkin' I ain't missin' you I'm Conway n***a, every verse a brick or two My dog knock you down for a half a cake Then run to Atlanta like Pastor Ma$e They have Don seven for a ratchet case k**a Tone droppin' bodies, he ain't tat his face I use the G code just to crack the safe Griselda bucket on my rattlesnake Fryin' lobster with a gla** of grapes Hall and Nash, we winnin', them n***as had to hate