MiNt cHoCoLaTe (feat. Conway the Machine) - 1999 WRITE THE FUTURE

MiNt cHoCoLaTe (feat. Conway the Machine) - 1999 WRITE THE FUTURE

1999 WRITE THE FUTURE

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MiNt cHoCoLaTe (feat. Conway the Machine) - 1999 WRITE THE FUTURE

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MiNt cHoCoLaTe (feat. Conway the Machine) - 1999 WRITE THE FUTURE Lyrics

(A-one, two, a-one, two, three, go)
Brrt, ayo, ayo

Ayo, my shooter hittin' everything rollin' off the wet (brrt, ah)
Stressin' in that cell, used to have to call collect
Now tassels on the Celine leathers, I'm on a jet
I'ma land on that rec yard, steal Sly out the stretch (ah)
320 a month, laps around the sun

My shooter hummin', "Ain't No Sunshine", loadin' up a drum, uh
Everybody father, uh, coke in the agua, uh
Had to lie low, I had a bitch in Cheektowaga, uh
At minimum, I had 50 suits in the locker, uh

Touch mine, stab you off adrenaline, proper
I'm from the eastside of hell, where the devil wear Dolce
The MAC clip don't stop (brr), Marni slippers all bozy
In the law library, you shoulda heard what Black told me

Worthy pack ya shit up, pulled off in a Rosey (skrrt)
Thank God, God chose me
The baddest bitch you ever seen, told her, "Don't touch the pony" (super FLYGOD)

Look, look (ah), Pyrex vision kitchenware, I was whippin'
Got my wrists like I won the strongest man competition (hahaha)
Send the brodie on a slidin' mission, all my oppositions (brr)
They talkin' tough, but they was not convincin', 30 shots'll rinse 'em (brr)

Just looked at my account, some more direct deposits hit it
Got my riches, still in my prime, but I just had to optimus it (cash)
I had some setbacks, but I remain optimistic, I'm out the trenches
Hot pockets, mystics, now it's lobster dishes (talk to 'em)

I know bodyin' these beats is what you know me for
All gold Presi' but I got mines out the Rollie store
Why you think the junkies always shootin' like they Kobe for? (Huh)
Dope too strong, why you think they always OD for? (Woo)

I gave 'em a style, gave 'em a lane, that's what they owe me for (haha)
Put some homies on and gratitude they ain't show me at all (fuck them niggas though, bro)
Celine tote for my broad, Margiela coat in the fall
Scatter Brain open the jar, y'all niggas know who the God, Machine, bitch


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