Conway the Machine & Sauce Walka Ft Juicy J – Super Bowl Lyrics

“Super Bowl”, a bonus track on WON’T HE DO IT, sees Conway linking up with southern rappers Juicy J and Sauce Walka over a trap beat produced by Juicy J himself.

Super Bowl Lyrics by Conway the Machine & Sauce Walka Ft Juicy J

[Intro: Juicy J]
Play me some pimpin’, man
(What Juicy say? He be like, “Shut the fuck up”)

[Chorus: Conway the Machine]
Yeah, big rings, two of those (Yeah)
Super Bowl, Super Bowl (Yeah)
Lot of money, lot of hoes (Yeah)
Lot of money, lot of money, yeah (Woo)
Big forty, nigga, play with me (Huh?)
Feelin’ like I won the AFC (Yeah)
Lamb’ truck to get from A to B (Yeah)
Still winnin’, what they hate to see (Yeah)

[Verse 1: Conway the Machine]
Yeah, woo, got the forty on the stage with me (Brr)
Never lackin’, nigga, wait and see (Brr)
Never lackin’, nigga, play and see (Brr)
Woo, woo, woo, fuck her good, she wanna stay with me (Huh?)
But I could never be faithful to a bitch, I don’t livе my life faithfully
I’m only faithful to the cash, yeah (Woah)
Straight forward to thе bag, uh (Woah)
I don’t wait for it, I don’t ask (Woah)
I’ma take all of it, I take all it, I’ma take off, I’m finna blast (Yeah)
Yeah, play my tape for them and they say, “Nah, the nigga spazzin” (Yeah)
Got Spade pourin’ in the glass
All my bitches ratchet, they like drinkin’ out the bottle (Ha)
The bottle (Ha), the bottle (Woo)
Yeah, all my bitches ratchet, they like drinkin’ out the bottle (Woo)
The bottle (Woah), woo, yeah
Still on go, on missions
Still keep the Draco with beam and extensions
Still gon’ air it if it’s tension (Brr, brr)
Told ’em, “I don’t really like that,” they ain’t listen
Shoot it quick, I ain’t missin’ (Boom, boom)
Scope on the top of it hit you from distance (Woah)
I just won my division (Woah, woah)
Championship rings on my fist glisten (Brr)
[Chorus:Walka]
Big rings, two of those (Ah)
Super Bowl, Super Bowl (Yeah)
Lot of money, lot of hoes (Yeah)
Lot of money, lot of money, woah (Yeah)
Big forty, nigga, play with me (Huh?)
Feelin’ like I won the AFC (Yeah)
Bulletproof truck to get from A to B (Ooh-wee, ooh-wee)
I’m really what you niggas claim to be (Splash)

[Verse 2: Sauce Walka]
Super Bowl ring, got the Rams sack
Went Cooper Kupp, I done caught me a big bag
Jugg Jalen Ramsey on the corner on a bitch back
Girl, I’m a P, I don’t move pounds or nick sacks
Boy, take a Tic-Tac, talkin’ that shit get you shitbagged
Boy, you a slave with a chain, you got whiplash
Sippin’ slow soda, but still drive the whip fast
Name is Jerome, but I Bettis won’t hit back
Escalade bulletproof
Talkin’ dog in the van, his name Scooby-Doo
She got ass like a hippo up out the zoo
But she still gotta pay if she comin’ through
Yeah, lil’ mama a star and a comet too
She can fall out the sky and land in my coupe
Turnin’ models to millions is nothin’ new
Baby girl, buy me Prada, I’m proud of you
Congratulations
Put her on stage, it’s a graduation
Bitch, I’m the dean of the college and I’m glad you made it
Nowadays, rap so fabricated
I got all numbers in the books, I’m the yellow papers
Showtime the wrist, yeah, Gervonta
I done got rich out the streets, went the con way
I’m from the home of the queen, that’s Beyoncé
But I done seen Destiny’s Child die from gunplay (Ooh-wee)
[Chorus: Conway the Machine & Juicy J]
Big rings, two of those (Ah)
Super Bowl, Super Bowl (Yeah)
Lot of money, lot of hoes (Yeah)
Lot of money, lot of money, woah (Conway)
Big forty, nigga, play with me (Huh?)
Feelin’ like I won the AFC (Yeah)
Bulletproof truck to get from A to B (I got you, man)
I’m really what you niggas claim to be (Let’s go)

[Verse 3: Juicy J]
Juice havin’ motion, don’t get mad
Just like groceries, your ho get bagged
Young wild niggas wanna smoke shit bad
Any disrespect and the toe get tagged
Still ain’t retired, guess I ain’t finished yet
I got more rings than Brady, I get a check
BBL look deflated like Belichick
No back and forth with a ho, I don’t get in that
Still rollin’ loud way before the concert
Trick on a bitch, I’d rather die first
Pockets fat like Chuck, no Converse
White ho, black ho, gotta keep it diverse (What?)
Pimpin’ ain’t dead, gotta try first (What?)
Anything ratchet is my verse (What?)
She want me to put my meat on the grill, she gon’ eat the dick up like a bratwurst (Ha)
Bitch, you can pull your pants up, who told you we was finna fuck? I want top first (Mhm)
Hollywood address, all type of access, but I had to get it off the block first (Block first)
Pretty bitch in my bed, paint the city red, paint the same color on an opp’s shirt (Opp’s shirt)
If you ain’t finna gag on the tip and make your eyes water up, this dick will not work
[Interlude: Juicy J]
Won’t work
You know what I’m sayin’?
Shut the fuck up

[Chorus: Conway the Machine]
Big rings, two of those (Ah)
Super Bowl, Super Bowl (Yeah)
Lot of money, lot of hoes (Yeah)
Lot of money, lot of money, woah (Yeah)
Big forty, nigga, play with me (Huh?)
Feelin’ like I won the AFC (Yeah)
Bulletproof truck to get from A to B (Yeah)
I’m really what you niggas claim to be (Boom, boom)