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Roc Marciano

Rakeem Calief Meyer (born February 11, 1978), better known by his stage name Roc Marciano, is an American rapper, songwriter, and producer. more »

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Yeah, Pimpstead bitch, hold up
Know we on your ass, boy (yeah, check)

Niggas play around 'til it's man down
(You and what army, nigga?)
I'm the illest nigga hands down
Air 'em out, air 'em out (Hold up)
Niggas play around 'til it's man down
Uh, I'm the illest nigga hands down (Yup)
Air 'em out (Air 'em up) air 'em out

You know what we came for
(You know why we here)
You know who gave the whore the cocaine jaw
What's all the shade for? The numbers
On the 380 was shaved off
Thirty shots sprayed off
Take you off like a stray dog
Your days are short like your Range sport
Pop an Ace of Spades champagne cork
(Pop that shit)
Paint your brain on the wall
The forty bulldog my aerosol
Knock a еyeball out your skull
Flush you out that hole you been hiding in
(We see you hiding) you high on thе list
The homies gon' fly your wig (Fly your shit)
Oh you must've forgot I'm rich
I'm a project kid
And you my next project, kid
Been should've had you fixed
Should've had you a wrench
A drillbit, shit I ain't did a drill in a bit
(In a minute)
Give 'em a clip, bet he squeal like a pig
Life's a bitch she tried to throw grit's on
A pimp and missed (You missed me, bitch)
Your shit is like ten percent diss
Niggas is lit like a tennis link
Daddy you haven't said anything
(You ain't said shit)
With the pen, they say I'm Hemingway
I'm a heavyweight
I'm better than niggas in every way
Sky-Dweller and this Perrier
(Water) this the cherry on the cake
You most definitely getting spanked
(Spankin' these niggas) after the gank
Your old lady engage in hanky pank
I'm in her pussy doing the stanky leg

You see? F*ck (Know what I'm sayin?)
Uh, Groovy, uh (Soo)

How you don't love me like the wind do?
You headphones, I'm hands-on
In and out the way I handle, huh
You flirtin' with them candles, uh
You lookin' ladylike
Pussy tryna swim with the sharks
Nigga we Navy height
Barely seen but platinum and gold
Nigga I'm really nice
The gat peeled, the white dove rose
I can make butter fly
I don't have the time like those
Rather make mothers cry
The hit maker, slid down home
Because I'm certified
Bonafide to knock-knock door
Tell me what homicide
Did numbers, swab my teeth like gold
Nigga I rap a lot spin your block, you dry
Snitchin' on the 'Gram, you half a cop
I'm in the game, you tryna share my stats
Huh? I grab the drum out the
Backpack then boom bap that, yeah
Normally I use it just to scratch my back, uh
Don't gotta hang with rappers
When your contract maxed, uh
Don't need a hundred niggas when
You built like that
Let's get it, talkin' out your ass
You must got me confused
'Cause I will not lose
I got nothing to prove
I sold twenty, made twenty
I'm in the shadow of who?
I'm in the battle with who?
That nigga sweeten my tooth
Just a rock in my shoe
Can't stumble my groove
Must I humble this dude? Bruh
I pity the fool you can't sit at my table
Can't be in my room
Just the must in my pit's
Tryna swing from my dick
Just the butt when I flick, Wagyu when I pick
Just a burp when I'm drunk
You the ash from the blunt
It don't matter, the Klumps
All you niggas is lunch
I'm really one of the ones
I can never be done i'm Groovy (Soo)
COVID, nigga

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