Conway the Machine – Spurs 3 (ft. Benny The Butcher & Westside Gunn) (Audio, Lyrics)

Conway the Machine is back with “Spurs 3” featuring Benny The Butcher & Westside Gunn. Listen, stream, buy, mp3 download and read the lyrics to the song produced by Beat Butcha.

Conway The Machine Spurs 3

The Spurs spent most of the late 90s and 2000s establishing themselves as a dynasty. The trio of Tim Duncan, Tony Parker, and Manu Ginobili was almost unstoppable. So it makes sense that Conway decides to grab his two Griselda labelmates for “Spurs 3.” The single is a standout on From King To A God, and we highlighted it although it isn’t one of the new tracks on the new deluxe edition. The Griselda dynasty is being built before our very eyes, and Benny the Butcher and Westside Gunn make that apparent.

The grimy lyricism meshes well with the gutter instrumental. Produced by Beat Butcha, “Spurs 3” features a haunting piano and an eerie xylophone that helps create this truly sinister street vibe. Of course, the Griselda-mates all hold their own, dropping bars about dripping jewelry, promiscuous women, and trigger fingers.

Conway the Machine – Spurs 3 (ft. Benny The Butcher & Westside Gunn) (prod. Beat Butcha)

Lyrics

[Intro: Conway the Machine]
Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot (Griselda), look

[Verse 1: Conway the Machine & Westside Gunn]
Detectives combin’ through the hood lookin’ for a corpse
Draco hittin’, I don’t think your body can endure the force (Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot)
I whip the fish up with a fuckin’ hanger or a fork (Whip up)
Told that bitch go ahead, sniff what you want, it’s plenty more to snort (Sniff)
I had an outstandin’ warrant for a short
Turned myself in rockin’ Louis and all my jewelry, I wore to court (Hahahaha)
Huh, cop pulled me over in my imported Porsche
He said, “This car must be a hundred K”, I said, “You forty short” (I said you short)
My nigga droppin’ bodies for the sport
Violators got tragedy written all over it like The War Report
Most of you rap niggas, I pistol whip you or extort
I’m the Machine, I fuck bitches you can’t afford to court
Y’all clout chasin’, every verse, you name droppin’
Taggin’ niggas in your post, hopin’ that they comment back and at you in it
I don’t wanna rap, don’t wanna dap you niggas
I honestly don’t give no fucks about bein’ friends with a rapper nigga (Not at all)
Griselda, bitch, we the inspiration (Huh)
You can see me and Gunn influencin’ all the music these niggas makin’
Ask B Dot and Elliot, they will tell you yes (Go and ask ’em, nigga)
Ask my nigga Mal and Joe Budden, they can tell you best (Uh-huh)
Ask the homie Wayno and ’em, they’ll confess
Lotta albums are suddenly startin’ to feel a lil’ more Griselda-esque (Ha)
Talk to Ebro, ask Sway in the Morning
About the impact of this movement, sure, they’ll say it’s enormous
‘Member I used to sell the yay with the AK on the corner (Huh)
Now reality TV bitches keep sayin’ I’m gorgeous (What up, baby?)
I got the flooded AP, my jeweler sayin’ it’s flawless
That’s probably cap, but what he askin’, I’ma pay it regardless (Hahahaha)
Every other day it’s menages, racin’ garages
Made that bitch suck this dick until she say she exhausted (I ain’t say you finished)
Keep a shooter with me that don’t mind takin’ the charge
Basically, May Street made me this heartless (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Machine, bitch (Ayo)

[Verse 2: Westside Gunn & BENNY THE BUTCHER]
Don’t ever try to play me (Don’t ever try to play me, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
You know what time it is, baguette AP (Ah)
I go to sleep with the MAC (Brr), wake up, brush my teeth with the MAC (Brr, brr, brr, brr), ayo
Ferragamo goggles, in the day room eatin’ nachos
First nigga touch the TV gettin’ stabbed, word to Michael, pick one (Ah)
Tyson, Jordan, Jackson, MAC-10 (Brr, brr, brr)
Droppin’ niggas broad daylight (Brr, droppin’ niggas broad daylight)
Ayo, you know I’m the goat (Ah)
Hit at least five niggas, wash the MAC with the soap (Brr, brr)
I ain’t never goin’ back, free Cease, free Soaks (Free my niggas)
Anybody you see out there, just shoot, let ’em know (Doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot, doot)
My side bitch bought me a TEC-9 with a bolt (Ah)
Tucked it in the Chrome Heart in case a nigga want war (In case a nigga want war)
I took the tablets down to ‘Bama, had the best for the low (Yeah, ah)
Pyer Moss snow boots on with no snow (Yeah, uh)
Four-four long, we on, he gotta go, he gotta go (Yeah, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, yo)

[Verse 3: BENNY THE BUTCHER]
For pots with powder ’round the edges, this the grind that I perfected (Uh-huh)
I had to dodge a lot of questions from crooked homicide detectives
In a raid, white boys with vestes piled ’round the exits (Remember that)
Sawed-off shotgun, double barrel, I filed it down symmetric, yeah (Nigga, ah)
I snap a finger, Scram’ll clap the nina (Clap the nina)
You lost your bitch, I haven’t seen her, the cash I bring in attractin’ singers (Hahahaha)
A bag of heaters in the back of Bimmers (Skrrt)
Cocaine, thick gold chain like DMC in them black Adidas
I remember when it was dirt cheap (Uh-huh)
I don’t know what you gon’ name this, but it’s soundin’ like “Spurs 3” (Sound like “Spurs 3”)
I earned keep, now everybody tryna get a verse free (Damn)
Jewels like we do Travis Scott numbers the first week, keep up
I don’t mention y’all niggas’ names, pillow talkin’, playin’ little games (I don’t do that)
This a man’s world, you at your best when you middle aged (A man’s world)
Streets waitin’, if I don’t drop, all the hustlers gon’ get enraged (They waitin’)
Room full of bitches, first we gon’ fuck ’em, then get on stage (Ah)
Who knew? I up and married the game, no, ain’t get engaged (Uh-uh)
On the prison yard next to a jack like a ten of spades (Nigga)
Griselda, we applyin’ the pressure into the game (Uh-huh)
These rap niggas talk greasy on tracks and then explain, pussy