T.F. & 2Eleven – Blackout (ft. Conway The Machine) (Audio, Lyrics, Video)

T.F. & 2Eleven - Blackout (ft. Conway The Machine) (prod. Olmanbozz)

T.F. & 2Eleven drop the music video for their “Blackout” collaboration which features Conway The Machine. The piece was produced by Olmanbozz. Listen, stream, read the lyrics, buy, mp3 download.

T.f. & 2eleven Blackout
T.f. & 2eleven Blackout

T.F. and 2Eleven are getting hella active this year. The two rappers are a little over a month removed from the release of their second collaborative project together, Skanless Levelz 2. The follow-up to their 2020 joint effort consisted of eight songs in total with appearances from G Perico and Slumlord Trill. However, the two clearly have more heat in the stash.

On Friday, they came through with a new single titled, “Blackout” ft. Conway The Machine. The two West Coast MCs dive into the gritty Buffalo sound with some help from Olman80zz, who cooks up the eerie production. T.F. and 2Eleven flex their lyrical prowess even harder on this one before Conway closes out the record on the final verse.

T.F. & 2Eleven – Blackout (ft. Conway The Machine) (prod. Olmanbozz)

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Lyrics

[Intro: T.F.]
Uh, look
Uh, okay, okay
(Oldman80)

[Verse 1: T.F.]
Uh, spazzed out, tryna figure out how I blacked out
In the trap house with bitches doing lashes with they ass out
Ambitionz Of A Ridah in the background
The streets is like the octagon, if you break down, don’t tap out
Niggas out here storytellin’ so the police, they camped out
What happened to that old shit, hit super MACs and go max out?
Fuck them others who let the flash out, fall face first like Pakyal
I post pics holding prop guns but it’s real shit in my background
Mashed down, MAC .90 hit the back streets and get crumbed, ayy, ayy
Hit the Eastside with the AG’s and go dump, yeah, yeah
Yeah, I’m tired hanging like a bandana ’round a crip nigga steering wheel
New brand new set of wheels, new bad bitch, hair and nails done
A1 like raw year, plenty residue dollar bills
Potting licks out at the Playa’s Club, you get tied up like Dolla Bill
Yeah, I got mine out the mud, nigga, like a lean-head popping sips
I said I got mine out the mid, nigga, leaving yellow tape, popping shells

[Verse 2: 2 Eleven & Conway the Machine]
Fresh out of jail, got it hot as hell
Retaliation, nigga, might as well
Yeah, my young nigga get a lot of kills, ah
Busting missions out of Boneville
With the cocaine, I made a lot of seals
With the proceeds off a clientele
Bought a hundred guns with a lot of shells
Get the opposition, nigga, slide to hell
Had to show these niggas I can rap-rap
Made a half a milli out the trap-trap
But the kitchen table like a tat-tat
With the .38, nigga, blap-blap
Young Gunna, no slatt-slatt
With a couple screws like I’m Fat Pack
Rolls Royce, nigga, matte black
After this verse, it’s a wrap-wrap
Bleed niggas like I missed ’em
Mike Amiri jeans, spent a Crip on ’em
Chopping blocks like a Flintstone
I’m the Nation Dog with the phentanyl
All blood money getting rinsed off
With the royalties from risiduals
They side, they love us but I’m dissing ’em
Flipping hoes, that’s original
Shitting on ’em, that’s intentional
All these rap niggas ain’t original
Every single one sound similar
I can’t pick and choose who to listen to
I cook waves, we flooding them, nigga
Competition, we fuckin’ ’em
Every four-hunnid, forty-eight grams
Make sure we gon’ double up, ah
Twenty-five bands four times
Nigga, damn near ran a hunnid up
They should’ve never gave them niggas no money
Knowing they was finna run ’em up, ah
Fuck it up but then fuck it off
Niggas having money, I can’t tell
Give a fuck about no government
You niggas politic theyself, yeah (Yeah)

[Verse 3: Conway the Machine]
Spazzed out, whole lot of V’s lining up at the back house (Haha)
Told ’em wait ’til you all the way behind the gate before you pull your cash out (Haha)
Put a little extra baking soda in the pot and get another half out (When?)
You only got one body, nigga, that ain’t really shit to brag ’bout (Ha)
I can push the button right now, I can get a couple niggas scratched out (Brr)
Like I’m a waxing menace, we gon’ smoke them niggas, then we gon’ stab out (Stabbed out)
I heard he had your spot mapped up
Got your bitch tied up with a gagged mouth
Went in the closet, took that bag out (What’s happenin’, bitch?)
Put all the pounds in the Hefty, look like we taking trash out (Haha)
If it’s pressure, we spin and we ain’t gon’ let it drag out
Told that bitch to put up that plate and don’t leave them bags out
Where I’m from, you can’t put up your peace, it’s getting bad out (It’s bad)
But I’m a straight goon, doing push-ups and holding us in a dayrun (Huh?)
Your turn to eat comin’, but it ain’t soon (It’s my turn)
I’m cooking up, the downstairs neighbors can smell the Ye fumes
I stacked so much money, then I’m running out the saferoom
Machine, haha, yeah

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