Roc Marciano

We Ill
Folding bills where I hone my skills I was a soldier in the field Where you only get to eat what you could kill I keep the steel in the clean Seville Bad bitch rolling off a E pill Treat a rich hoe like a cheap thrill We ill, we ill, we ill, we ill Ain't no love, and if it was I wouldn't own a snub and some gloves Seen niggas get plugged over the grub, Hoes got dug, your 0-5 bug will hit the mud I hit the pub, lifted the mug Bitches hit the club I slipped a clip in the gun Niggas on the run My skin don't get enough sun I had to winter my lungs to overcome I'm still paying for my past tense Sitting in the E class Benz Black ski mask, black timbs Platinum mac ten That'll shatter your Cadillac tints Strange days, cocaine's weighed by the eighth Young niggas is chased by the jakes Create freebase He bakes pies and cakes SongtexteAnd fiends form lines to taste I played the A8 While my primates decides your fate And killed the vampire with the steak I'm a threat behind the designer specs Fly, you might find me in a spiderweb Don Juan dialect, Hawaiian dime Got her by the neck What's your pimping worth? When you pick the lint off shirts Whores disperse for kids To put the fork in dessert For talking, I put the Porsche in reverse Flesh get tossed into the Earth After I draw and squirt I plant my feet upon foreign dirt Roll up the purp, with a smart “fuck you” smirk I lift the Rosé up til the muscles burn Hustle and earn The handle on the thirty two is pearl Do a set of concentration curls High fashion, climaxing on satin The outside of the tilapia was blackened Share the gift, wood gear shift I appear in the mist Then dip like Tokyo Drift Caress the fifth like Professor Griff Texture is slick Ten in your whip Now may you rest with the fish Squeeze glocks for stocks, three quarter fox Thick big pitbull jawlock, I'm the warlock My lines go for ten a pop like orange tops Fuck you niggas with a horse's cock I'm taking mines off the top Whores watch as we board the yacht Like George C. Scott, Ciroc Five drops of olive oil in the wok Presidential watch, call it Barack Black face shit, with the invisible locks To get you shot just like the Hitchcock plot We ill, we ill, we ill, we ill Aus Songtexte Mania