Music Video

Conway the Machine, Fabolous & Benny the Butcher - Brooklyn Chop House (Official Visualizer)
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Featured In

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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Conway the Machine
Conway the Machine
Vocals
Fabolous
Fabolous
Vocals
Benny the Butcher
Benny the Butcher
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Demond Price
Demond Price
Songwriter
Thomas Paladino
Thomas Paladino
Songwriter
John Jackson
John Jackson
Songwriter
Jeremie Pennick
Jeremie Pennick
Songwriter
Lloyd Brown II
Lloyd Brown II
Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Daringer
Daringer
Producer
Demond Price
Demond Price
Executive Producer
rocky tran
rocky tran
Recording Engineer
Steve Dickey
Steve Dickey
Recording Engineer
Sonny "Carson" Tudeme
Sonny "Carson" Tudeme
Mixing Engineer
Mark Christensen
Mark Christensen
Mastering Engineer
Jannique Heard
Jannique Heard
Creative Director

Lyrics

Yeah Time to show 'em proof, mm-mm-mm-mm Get money, yeah Get money, yeah Get money, uh Get money, get money, yeah Cocaine and assault rifles (brrrr) My progress can't be stifled (not at all) Fuck boy, I never liked you (I don't fuck with you niggas) Fuck around and make us green light you (look) I just want the bag (I just want the bag) It ain't about no bag, no conversations can't be had (I ain't talkin') I never liked you (I don't fuck with y'all) Cocaine and assault rifles, yeah (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom) We pull up in that Rolls-Royce, motor cave We shittin' all summer, in the winter, put the toys away (uh-huh) Machine was in the studio recordin' like four a day (was in my bag) Tour on the private jet, goin' to the ranch to record with Ye (what up, my nigga?) I know them niggas with switches, I know them young boys with K's Nigga, we stood in the kitchens, lockin' them oils, wait (hahaha) It's gettin' spooky, and I ain't sure if I coined the phrase But ever since I said it, man, just look how much noise it make (ah-ha) The table full of tiger prawns and raw oyster trays Goose gettin' in position, I wanna see my boy get paid (get your bag, nigga) The MVP and championship trophy, we gon' hoist the way They shot at me and missed, somebody dyin' for that choice they made (you fucked up, right?) Summertime, New York City, I brought the drop out Back table lobster sate's at Brooklyn Chop House (yeah) Parkin' anywhere, fuck a ticket, we knock a cop out (haha) Park it anywhere, fuck a ticket, ayo, look (talk to 'em) I'm on a streak, like my nigga Diggs on a hot route Used to be at the table, baggin' up The College Dropout (nah) My nigga ain't take his case to trial, he took the cop out (nah) These niggas movin' they release date back when I pop out (I see it) Damn, what is you sayin'? I was outside, hustlin' grams I looked my man right in his eyes, and I said "Bro, what is your plan?" Run up your bands, this where I stand I bought some diamonds for both of my hands If I'm in a jam, I'm uppin' the can' You try to run down, won't let you advance Nigga, we got (brrrrr) Cocaine and assault rifles (Nigga, this just some guns and bullet shit, brrt) My progress can't be stifled (not at all) Fuck boy, I never liked you (we tryna put you on, baby boy, I don't fuck with you niggas) Fuck around and make us green light you (the young OGs, the Machine) I just want the bag (you see, they in it for the hundred) It ain't about no bag, no conversations can't be had (I ain't talkin', hahaha) I never liked you (I don't fuck with y'all, let me talk to 'em) Cocaine and assault rifles, yeah (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom) We in a game full of ugly truths and pretty phonies And all we want is the money like pretty Tony (yeah) I'm way too fly to be ridin' through my city lonely (for real) These young Miami chicks been treatin' me like Diddy, homie Yeah (it's love), and they just want to party, party (haha) And I just want to pipe her, like Rowdy Roddy (hahaha) Big stepper, these Rick's slicker than Lodi Dodi (we like to party) And Lil Uzi my shorty, he got that body-ody (just wanna rock) Body out of here, experience feelin' out of body (on God) I be mobbin', my lawyer beat up the Gotti bodies (yeah) Fuzzy sweater, I got 'em callin' me Marni Johnny (yeah) Big on head, got light-skin tryna come mardi mard me (what's up?) And grab my ears, then I dip Grab my ears, all I do Grab my bag, grab some food, grab my ears Yeah, they dad is a king Made my kid Fabolous' heirs They was made from this cloth (The Butcher comin', nigga) You know that fabric rare, nigga (yeah) She gotta see me in that kitchen before she get to know me better I'm judgin' our relationship off how many bricks we sold together I judge the friendship off how many opps we had to whack (brr) They was slidin', we was too, so I couldn't concentrate on rap (uh) This the kid who ran it up unexpectedly, hmm, I guess (I guess) Who the fuck am I to argue with destiny? Here's the catch (who am I?) These niggas never seen 30 blocks or even squeezed a TEC (I bet) So when you hear 'em rap about it on records, that shit a stretch I'm in the movies now, 200K for me to direct (facts) Corporate hustlin', jumped in the rap game and repeated the steps (huh?) Life's a bitch, I had to walk down a block with her holdin' hands I'm from the Eastside, where even grandmas got an OnlyFans, ah I couldn't wait to get on in hood spots with my kid on Still go to King City for dutches with all this shit on Niggas see me in person and know they can't afford these jewels I'm tryna buy a rap bitch a new truck like I'm Jordan Poole Where she at? Cocaine and assault rifles (brr) My progress can't be stifled (not at all) Fuck boy, I never liked you (I don't fuck with you niggas) Fuck around and make us green light you (look) I just want the bag (I just want the bag) It ain't about no bag, no conversations can't be had (I ain't talkin') I never liked you (I don't fuck with y'all) Cocaine and assault rifles (boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Writer(s): John David Jackson, Demond Price, Jeremie Scorpio Pennick, Thomas A. Paladino Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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