Used to have to pitch
Now I print cash with the bic
The pad is a blank check
Embrace death, taste flesh
While the rhyme on the page is still wet
Far from fictitious
The cars attract the bitches
I hear the whispers
My palms got the blisters
Buy the 45, you’re moisturized
The oysters are fried
Pull fives out the toybox
Be as lonely at the top
The watchband is croc
The palace is a camelot
Don’t ride the camel when it’s hot
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They channeling Pac
My chairman scramble and rock
While I dance to the Spanish guitar
Spit the chorus
To stimulate the whore’s clitoris
It taste like porridge
I felt rewarded from the man
I ran from the warrant
The high top Ewings is blue and orange
Flash Gordon
We still getting it
Piping dimes on the terrace
I’m thinking about my life where it’s headin
I sleep with heat under the pillow
The cash is where I left it, it’s nothing
I watch the city while I’m fucking
I’m such a glutton
Gucci buckets with the Chukkas motherfuckers
As a dove flew out the glove of the magician
It was just as I predicted
Reality is prescripted
Trees twisted
Autistic, gorgeous hitmen
Escort the vixen
Porsches, Imported liquids
To buy a snake and acquired taste
We play for higher stakes
Wine and dine by the fireplace
Romantic, strawberries on the coke
My chariot approach, I vanished
Parlaying with the players
Switch layers Mr. Rogers, galoshes
Foxes to dance topless
I hit the spot that’s erogenous, erotic
Brolic hips hippopotamus
Chocolate bitch
The clock is a Swiss
The chronic is lit
Gin and tonic the mix
The Benz is a 6
Inside the Matrix, I’m the glitch
357 with the rubber grip
So when the beef pop
The shit don’t slip
We still getting it
Piping dimes on the terrace
I’m thinking about my life where it’s headin
I sleep with heat under the pillow
The cash is where I left it, it’s nothing
I watch the city while I’m fucking
I’m such a glutton
Gucci buckets with the Chukkas motherfuckers
compositores: Roc Marciano
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