Conway the Machine – Brucifix (ft. Westside Gunn) (Audio, Lyrics, Video)

Conway the Machine releases the Daringer-produced “Brucifix” song with Westside Gunn off the project, “Won’t He Do It.” Listen, stream, read the lyrics, buy the track.

The first New Music Friday of May has brought with it several noteworthy singles, including the return of Brent Faiyaz on “Fell In Love” alongside Marshmello and Desiigner’s exploration of his mental health on “Timmy Turner 2.” Aside from that, a handful of new albums and EPs arrived on DSPs too, such as DaBaby’s Call Da Fireman, and Conway the Machine’s WON’T HE DO IT. The latter was preceded by singles such as “Quarters,” “Super Bowl” featuring Juicy J and Sauce Walka, and finally, “The Chosen” with Jae Skeese.

Another title from the 14-song tracklist that got an early debut is “Brucifix.” The three-minute and 10-second long effort includes an appearance from Conway’s frequent collaborator, Westside Gunn. Though it was on DSPs prior to his album’s arrival, it did appear in a visual for “Quarters,” which the Buffalo-born wordsmith shared on YouTube just last month. The minimal beat was produced by Daringer, and it certainly doesn’t distract from either artist’s bold bars.

“Cocaine, caviar, and grouper fishes / You see a bunch of rappers, I see a group of bitches,” Conway sets the scene as his verse begins. “No broke n*ggas around me / That shit might rub off, I’m superstitious.” For his part, Westside name-dropped plenty of fashion brands, in his usual style. “Bottega green satchels / Bet I’ll be at you, Tom Ford tracksuit,” the east coast icon rhymes. “Prince Markie D on the stove, wearin’ raccoons / You just got it, I wore this shit Fashion Week last June (Ah).”

Conway the Machine – Brucifix (ft. Westside Gunn) (prod. Daringer)

5 May 2023
1 Song, 3 minutes
℗ 2023 Drumwork Music Group LLC / EMPIRE

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Lyrics

[Intro: Conway the Machine]
Brr

[Verse 1: Conway the Machine]
Cocaine, caviar, and grouper fishes (Sniff)
You see a bunch of rappers, I see a group of bitches (Haha)
No broke niggas around me
That shit might rub off, I’m superstitious (Get out of here)
Direct deposit just came in, that shit was too ridiculous
My music motivate dudes in the trenches usin’ switches (Uh-huh)
Ain’t even gotta drop a bag, them boys gon’ do your dishes (Boom, boom, boom)
Bro got all that time, he appealed and they reduced the sentence
And he still gotta do two digits (That’s fucked up), shit
Word to my nigga Malice, everything I spew malicious
That’s just somethin’ to think about when y’all do y’all lists (Talk that shit)
Run at me, you runnin’ towards a wall, boy, I ain’t movin’ inches (Uh-huh)
DJ modified the yacht, he like “Buzz, check my new invention” (What up, Buzz?)
Haha, yeah, niggas can’t control their emotions, show their true intentions
That bitch was broke, that made me lose my interest
I’m so in the lead, I could leave for three years and still ain’t losin’ distance (Ha)
Look, it was resi’ in them pots and them pans, now it’s tropical sand (Whip up)
I told her “Don’t even pack, we gon’ shop when we land” (We shoppin’)
Private villa, seafood tower, lobster and clam (Get money, bitch)
So paranoid, some nights, I sleep with this Glock in my hand (Uh-huh)
Havin’ visions of niggas that I done shot with this can (I swear)
It’s niggas that I love, I know, tryna plot on my land (Who plottin’, huh?)
Whack ’em, bury ’em in my yard, dig his plot on my land (Woo)
Shit, I’m just that nigga, boy, look at my run
Look all of the classics that I dropped in the span of six years
It would seem I did the impossible, damn
Came a long way from when a nigga was shot in my van
Tourin’ overseas, I just had a moshpit in France
Puttin’ on for my niggas that’s locked in the jam (Ah)
I don’t rock with industry niggas, they is not my mans (Uh-huh)

[Interlude: Westside Gunn]
Uh-uh (Brr)
Flygod
Ayo

[Verse 2: Westside Gunn]
I don’t trust no fuckin’ body but this heckler (Boom, boom, boom)
Just spent thirty-thousand in the Webster (Ah)
You know the God, nothin’ more, nothin’ lesser (Uh-uh)
Jamaican, raw, hit him in his head and said “Bless up” (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Ayo, Jamaican, raw, hit him in his head and said “Bless up” (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Ayo, tell ’em to bring the match, to wear Bottega green satchels (Grr)
Bet I’ll be at you, Tom Ford tracksuit
Prince Markie D on the stove, wearin’ raccoons
You just got it, I wore this shit Fashion Week last June (Ah)
Balenciaga, Adida’, baklava (Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot)
The chopper shot, the suede Maserati, with the Prada top (Skrrt)
American cups, patent leathers on blasè blah (Hmm)
Denim Tears Saint Michael top off, Mardi Gras (Brr, brr, brr, brr)
I talked to Sly and Kutter today (Ah)
Still be in the hood, got a house on the lake
Got album of the year, still get work from the Bay (Ah)
Otis had been told me “If you gon’ play, you gotta play”
My nigga just seen a boy, stomach hurtin’, he gotta stay (Hmm)
Gave Y.N. a new Griselda chain and a Drac’ (Brr)
(Brr)