Dirty Harry
Benny The Butcher

BENNY THE BUTCHER


Dirty Harry Lyrics (feat. Rj Payne & Conway The Machine)

[Intro: RJ Payne]
Uh
Oh, this what we doin'?
Mmh
Plugs I Met, BSF gang, nigga
GxFR, oh, we cookin'
Uh, watch me work
Check

[Verse 1: RJ Payne]
My pen movin' like I'm improvin'
I deliver Def Jams, call me Rick Rubin
Big nine millimeter or the SIG shootin'
Brains hangin' out your wig, you a Fig Newton
Pie cooker, word to Jimmy "Fly" Snuka
Tomahawk dunk on all of you five-footers, uh
Speaker knocker, this that 45 woofer
Slaughter guys, and this hit was ordered by the Butcher
Payne, more bananas than the zoo
Gorilla, and all my hammers got that panoramic view
You niggas gamble with life 'til that cannon blam at you
Small-minded, blow out your brain and expand a nigga view
Raw specimen, pure medicine
Benny said clean niggas up, I'm George Jefferson
Black Sopranos, we workin', three quarters Mexican
Bars hit you like findin' out your daughter a lesbian
We got 'em hooked, it's the drugs that they came for
Leatherface, it's still blood on my chainsaw
Shower Posse, niggas love when the rain pour
Sorcerer, the torturer, that's what they call me Payne for
OBH hammer, let a spark go
Got that big AR-Ab, I'm in the Dark Lo
Bumpin' Lik Moss, I pull up, then I park slow
Bananas and pineapples, nigga, no Kevin Hart though (Payne)

[Verse 2: Benny the Butcher]
(The Butcher comin', nigga)
Yo, I got the green light from OGs that fathered the era
But what I did with a pot gon' make it hard to compare us (Facts)
I wash the blood off the money that my daughters inherit
And kept the barrel so hot that it fog up the mirrors
These niggas rap, so next time we into some shit, check it
Look, I ain't gon' clip you, I'm gettin' your bitch pregnant
Up early, serve you 28 grams with breakfast
And I could charge tuition to give you my wrist method
In the trap five straight hours, blendin' up fine gray powder
The fumes knock you out like Deontay Wilder
I call it get rich music, but y'all say albums
For niggas who got the long bids and lost they values (Uh huh)
Look, it's crazy up in Attica, they wildin' up in Sing Sing
Me against the world like Pat Riley and the Dream Team
Level three vest, MAC-90 with a green beam (Brrr)
Dead body on a dead body, I done seen things
Ah, the ride back with the stress
Supply packs to your steps, but I'm taxin' to death
I used to wanna get a contract with the Nets
But that changed when I got in contact with a connect, ah

[Verse 3: Conway]
Yeah, look, it's do or die, nigga, you decide
Last nigga shot at me and missed, it was like committin' suicide (That smoke)
Think it's a game? All we do it slide
Brodie on the backseat shootin' some shit that's Lil Uzi-size (Boom, boom, boom, boom)
Yeah, only hittin' above the neck (Huh)
I stopped robbin', gave the mask and the gloves a rest (Uh huh)
I flew to Cali just to find a new drug connect
And I still got a good rapport with all the plugs I met (That's a fact, nigga)
Yeah, I don't know why you p*ssy niggas bother
Big FN bullets flip a nigga Charger (Doot, doot, doot, doot)
Your favorite rappers is my sons, I'm you niggas' fathers
I'm the reason all them niggas tryna spit it harder (Hah)
You rap like you trappin', you made pennies (Picture that)
We 'bout that action, we clappin', we spray semis (Yeah, nigga)
Connect send me the package, I made plenty
I don't f*ck with no nigga that rap if it ain't Benny, motherf*ckers (Brrr, yeah)

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Songwriter(s): BENNY THE BUTCHER, Conway the Machine, RJ Payne
Record Label(s): 2019 Black Soprano Family, LLC
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