Edit Lyric - Lyricshot
Feature Note:
After successfully editing the lyric, we will review your submission. The review process may take up to one week.
Current Song
Higher Self (feat. T.F & Flee Lord)
Roc Marciano
Your Name
*
Lyric Content
*
Uh, yo Money to spoil whores with the spoils of war But the only b***h I know loyal is a dog Most must be avoided at all costs 'Cause with certain lines you cross, ain't no settlin' in court **** you thought? This sauce ain't store-bought Gotta be born with this sort of blowtorch The 40 blow you and your cohort off the porch (blat) For the small price of what a cup of coffee costs Uh, you see we popped You broke, so you takin' cheap shots, rockin' G-Shocks I ain't even shocked, you need to watch, we're on demon time Even when I'm inside Neiman's gettin' fly You cryin' for a piece of the pie, I just want peace of mind These the simple things currency can't buy The treasure is buried in the sky, not protected by leprechauns The queen rests her head on my chest to cry (it's okay, baby) I know you love to ear-hustle Can't trust if you keep things between us two (shh) No keepin' secrets if we a couple Sneak disses, I heard a couple, it's beneath me like a sneaker bubble Any rebuttal better be subtle What's done is done, no one was born with a stunt double, uh 'Cause I'll put every last one of you under the rubble Dirty Rugers, duckin' the state troopers Green tip Lugers, they tracers, you can't lose 'em Desert Eagle, triangle face, it's the Bermuda It leave eardrums ringin', it's therapeutic All my b*****s speak Spanish and eat arugula And reenact pornos, that's all I do with 'em No cap, yeah, that's true enough Coke white, Range Rover with the ruby guts I played the spot and let the hours rush Four hands, four tellers, that's a power punch I'm a pioneer, y'all fraudulent, like veneers Gunpowder residue, deadly when mixed with tears Yeah, I'm overzealous, urban legend, that's over years Everything scandalous, hope that don't go over heads Beach hammocks, plottin' on overheads Excuse my French, b***h, this European Benz Excuse the tint, b***h, these European lenses Baccarat, that's a European fragrance Luxurious, puttin' skeletons in my basement Lord Mobb, mob ties, free Pappy Mason Versace robe at my show, I'm that dude Yeah, "Ravishing" Rick Rude (woo!) Load work, get it off, that's my mood Pass the gloves, I'm 'bout to bag up this food (whip, whip, whip) Told niggas, "Help me get it up, I need a meal" ****ed around and shitted on me, now I got some mils (I'm up) Cartel theme music, you can scheme to it Sittin' in the lab with a rag, cleanin' beams to it Smokin' on Lung Crusher, mix it with the toke And a strand that costs you more than what you sniffin' up your nose (sniff) Put some pep in your step, ain't no draggin' your feet I ain't rush before I left, but I'll be back in a week, uh Lord Mobb, capital F, MAC with a vest (woo!) Another little blicky clipped and strapped to my chest, uh (brrr!) Chillin' in my family room, still'll make the hammers boom Bullets fly everywhere, even hit your grandma room (brrr!) I done spent most mi life in another life Another day Look in mi eye Trust me I watched mi grandchildren grow, you understand? But most of the time, people terminate such plan fi you ♪
Minimum 10 characters required
Submit Lyric Edit
Return to Lyric Page