AZ, Conway the Machine, Lil Wayne – The Ritual Lyrics

AZ The Ritual Lyrics, The Ritual Lyrics AZ Conway the Machine Lil Wayne

It’s not a performance, it’s a ritual (It’s a ritual)

When I rhyme, it’s like the city is mines
Play who? No label ain’t give me a dime
Came through like if you grateful, this how you really should shine
Flooded Jesus in that grey coupe at the grittiest times
They know me, since ’96, wrist was lit with a Rollie
Speak of bricks, been in the mix, ain’t shit you can show me
A king occasionally seen, stay in the wings
Success’ll be when you closer, your folks sprayin’ them things
In new Celine, the Louis mask over the grill
Do the math, ain’t gotta ask, nigga hold ’em for real
The omen is sealed, I’m pardoned
Back, sucker duckin’ and dodgin’
Fire spitter, who could fuck with the arson?
I’m neutral, never frugal, salute you if the feelin’ is mutual
Play cuckoo, niggas comin to roof you
The true school, the vet and the Ghost involved
Out of respect, still connect with the older gods
It’s no façade, I rep it, my style is perfected and epic (Yeah)
Not a blemish, let me finish my breakfast (Brrr, uh)

Look what I did with the pot, look what I did to the block
Bust the Presi band, fuck it, look what I did to the watch (Hahaha)
Look what I did for the game, look what I did when I dropped
My album kicked in the door niggas thought was forever locked
I woke them niggas up out they sleep (Hah?)
Bum ass niggas was goin’ broke in the projects tryna figure out how they gon’ eat (Ha)
See how they gon’ speak on me, they know I’m constantly bodyin’ beats
Best to come out of the East since ‘Bron in ’03 (Talk to ’em)
Machine inspired y’all, I fired off first
The last year numbers alone, I can retire off merch (Facts)
My jacket is Pyer Moss, uh, diamond cross
They say I’m a risin’ star, the PJ to fly across Earth (Uh-huh)
These are the perks, require hard work but I acquired more worth
My niggas built the empire off perch (Wooo)
That’s fish and my niggas had bricks of it (Ah)
Fuck this rap shit, we still good for cookin’ pies like a brick oven
Rick Owens trench on, my wrist flooded (Hah?)
Put that drip on and your bitch love it
Goyard prints all on my bitch luggage (Talk your shit, king)
My neck lookin’ like I did Will Smith numbers
I’m gon’ be runnin’ shit the next six summers (Brrr)
Machine

Uh, okay, all my blunts thin-skinned
I smell like pussy, money, weed, where is the incense?
I like my drugs intense
Make her pussy lips give my dick a hug and kiss
Finger fuck then fist
I make love then sense, I make her friends kiss
But she don’t let ’em kiss me, she make her friend sick
I make money make money, I make ugly taste lovely
I make money in my sleep and deposit what I wake up with
Got the Draco on, the gat with the longtail in the back
I might break my arm pattin’ my own self on the back
Break the bank like I break the backboard, they call me Shaq
The Feds tried to book me, found out that book was an Almanac
Call me back tomorrow, baby, I’m busy, the work continues
I eat rappers alive and ask for the dessert menu
After the church, send you the casket and dirt hit you
The Nina gon’ give you head right after she flirt with you
Wayne, nigga, put some straightenin’ on my name, nigga
Gang, nigga, my track record like a train, nigga
Young Money, let the moolah burn, drip like Lubriderm
I was bumpin’ AZ and The Firm when you was a worm, nigga

It’s not a performance, it’s a ritual (It’s a ritual)