Griselda Express Song Lyrics

Description:- Griselda Express Lyrics Benny the Butcher, Westside Gunn, Conway the Machine & Rick Hyde are Provided in this article. This is a new song which is sang by famous Singer Benny the Butcher, Westside Gunn, Conway the Machine & Rick Hyde. This song is from Everybody Can’t Go album. This song will release on January 26, 2024.

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Song:– Griselda Express
Singer:– Benny the Butcher, Westside Gunn, Conway the Machine & Rick Hyde
Album:– Everybody Can’t Go
Producer:– The Alchemist
Written:– Benny the Butcher, Westside Gunn, Conway the Machine, Rick Hyde & The Alchemist
Label:– 5 to 50 & Def Jam Recordings

Griselda Express Lyrics Benny the Butcher, Westside Gunn, Conway the Machine & Rick Hyde

[Intro: Benny the Butcher]
Yeah
I know they keep wonderin’
I know they keep wonderin’ when this shit gon’ stop
Huh, time
Ain’t a such thing as time, time is manmade, you know what I mean?
But real shit, though?
Even if it was, this shit’ll never stop
Ah
And that’s on Machine Gun Black
Uh

[Verse 1: Benny the Butcher]
I’m the one who coined the gritty slogan, the Butcher comin’
G-X-F, semicolon, BSF, Griselda Express, how many really rode it?
I lost count when I dropped B-O-P, they watch me O-T
But since they don’t rhyme on this peak, they gon’ try to copy those beats
So protect your aura, they put spells, wretchеd corners taught Butch well
How ironic, that eight foot cеll turn my brain cells to book shelves
Niggas who brag they never took deals, getting cooked still
And my foot still on rappers necks who got their hand-me-down careers from the Goodwill
I’m betting heavy, let’s get ready, my last record was record setting
Def Jam let me in the building, turned the boardroom to Satriale’s
Okay, y’all could rap, but ain’t no way y’all could lap a true hustler
Who thought his way off the Ave, an advance got paid out in cash
I own the masters to a few of my classics, bank cards not plastic
The Plug series mine, and that’s why you could only pray y’all could catch us
They hate on the great soldiers, make you some cake and pay all your taxes
And I could never flake ’cause being a real nigga pays automatic

[Chorus: Westside Gunn, Benny the Butcher]
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that? Grrt)
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that? Grrt)
Why it shoot like that?
Been stylin’, six deep in the Maybach truck, got the bitch piling (Skrrt)
Hopped out the two tone Balenci’, ski-mask smilin’ (Brrt, ah)
Why it shoot like that? (Why it shoot like that?)
Why it shoot like that?
Hit like five extra niggas, I’m on shit like that
Store bought look like, “Oh Lord, them niggas spinned right back”

[Verse 2: Rick Hyde]
Look, praying for clean money abundantly
Humbly hoping my ambitions don’t crumble me
It’s one of me, niggas ain’t authentic, niggas wanna be
My reputation precedes me, I need at least a hundred-piece
Your worth wrong, niggas think they rappers ’cause they verse long
My last show, they sung my shit in unison like church songs
Ask about me, green off of brown like earth tones
I turn that to a eighty point split once the merch gone
It never was no route for us, Fentanyl outpourin’
You wanna get some money in my city? Get a house for it (Get a house for it)
A fiend bought me a Samsung and a blender like a house warming (Yeah)
Gave that nigga six bags out the bundle, he was out for it
Was so worth it, K9 unit because the dog working
Straight yams, twenty piece tender that serve a soul purpose
Sawed-off, call it Marsha Brady ’cause the nose broken (Bent)
Shoot that shit in California, heard that shit in Hoboken

[Verse 3: Conway the Machine]
Look, pulled a McLaren blue and orange out, leave the doors up
It look like Pat Ewing getting his warm up (Talk to ’em)
This like the best run I had in some years (Huh?)
Customers loyal like Spike Lee, we was selling Madison Squares
Do the research, them boys was starving (Ha)
It was ugly for rap in this lane, we made it look like Lori Harvey (Talk to ’em)
Nobody had to cosign for me
Had a room full of white like Michael Rubin Fourth of July party (Ha)
My bitch got ass like Diana Ross daughter (Uh-huh)
She wanted me to buy a gram of soft for her
Walk up in the spot, rich niggas can’t keep they eyes off her (They can’t)
Only thing she got is some good pussy they can buy off her (Uh-huh)
Huh, they offer me the deals, I need the high offers (You think I’ll make that bag, right?)
That money good, but that contract ain’t on the up-and-up
“Take the money and leave the masters,” take the what, leave the what?
I’m countin’ up this paper cut, paper cut (Yeah)
Fuck what I’m bringing to the table when I’m the legs that hold the fucking table up
Won’t let no record label play with us
Before I let my lights cut off and cable shut, I’m back to bagging yayo up

[Outro: Benny the Butcher]
The Griselda train ain’t stoppin’, the Griselda train ain’t stoppin’
The Griselda train ain’t stoppin’, the Griselda train ain’t stoppin’
The Griselda train ain’t stoppin’, the Griselda train ain’t stoppin’
The Griselda train ain’t stoppin’, the Griselda train ain’t stoppin’
The Griselda train ain’t stoppin’, the Griselda train ain’t stoppin’
The Griselda train ain’t stoppin’, the Griselda train ain’t stoppin’
The Griselda train ain’t stoppin’, the Griselda train ain’t stoppin’
The Griselda train ain’t stoppin’, the Griselda train ain’t stoppin’