Th3rd F Lyrics - Conway

[Verse 1: Conway] 

Whippin yay at the fiend house 

Tuck the 'opper in the fiend couch 

'07, light dutches, nigga 

My gun game you can't fuck with, nigga 

Break both shins, put you on crutches, nigga 

Po-po at the door you better flush it, nigga 

He sold 19, only a bird left 

D's kicked his door and found it, that's his third F 

D's kicked his door and found it, that's his third F 

D's kicked his door and found it, hold up 

Look, since 15 been a TEC shooter 

Did a stretch came home big as Lex Luger 

Grilled lobster with the (?) fritters 

Griselda, bitch, who can fuck with us? 

I'm from the city niggas get smoked for a half a ki 

Versace specs, silk shirt on, bitch I'm Master P (haha, haha!) 

Master kush, I done smoked about a half a B 

Bout to lock the game up and bury the master key 

Had to foreign parked at my traum' spot 

Stick on the back seat if the dram' pop 

40 dollar ace, lyin around block 

I know I ain't shit, I even sold my mom rocks 

Free the gangstas in Clinton Max and Comstock 

Attica and Wyoming, Albion, the guys know me 

Might go see my jeweler buy 5 Rollies 

Just to remind myself, it's my time homie 

Bodies on the blicky 

Hit his body with the .50 

Shot shotter 'til it (?) 

Catch a body then I'm probably in the Masi doin 60 

In Atlanta smokin sour, ain't nobody fuckin with me 

I'm a legend in the flesh, respect me like your father 

Fuck them pussy niggas, I will hit 'em with the carbon 

Put you on the front of t-shirt, we merk whoever, nigga 

Related 

Naughty & Nice Christmas Songs 

From MetroLyrics to You: Our Classic Christmas Playlist 

Ariana Grande Adds Her Own Verse To "Last Christmas" 

[Interlude: Raekwon] 

Yeah man, little niggas better be careful, man 

Them little niggas out there man, playin, man 

Playin them big (?), nigga 

It's Griselda life, nigga, Wu-Tang, nigga 

That's right, for real 

Hold the fort gradually, nigga 

Keep nothin but Uzis 

With motherfuckin big potato skin on the top of it, nigga 

Yaknahmean, this real life, nigga 

Don't get caught up, nigga 

This is not a game nigga, this is not a game 

We will take your sneakers 

Take all that bread and everything, nigga 

For real, man, word up, word to mother, man 

You know the voice nigga 

You know who it is, man, call your boss in 

Photos 

[Verse 2: Raekwon] 

Egg shell S's, Guess jeans on 

I blow finesseness 

Caught me in Texas with Nexus cards and stolen Lexuses 

Me and my guest list of gun holders who blow pedestrians 

Half a boat load of coke inside my jets and shit 

Off like a Mexican, my best friend dip 

We run together, fuck all your next man shit 

Fuck your captain, he overreacted, I'll slowly blow your back in 

Catch you in traffic, the (?) 

We runs frenetic, I runs the cabinet 

That gun's Ben Affleck 

I drag flips, get caught in the cross like catholics 

I hold a black (?), I slap tricks, I mack slick 

You dap dicks, clowns get found naked in black whips 

And sign him off, he wasn't mine, he was a (?) 

Then this rich nigga's Drink Champs, can't buy me off 

Niggas is homos and bozos and logos, ridin Volvos 

Your clothes on, you hoes is sold, you lost ya soul