paroles de chanson Consigliere - Roc Marciano

This shit ain't rocket science
I rock the Greg Laurens like a rock climber
The stars lined up
You got lined up
I heard it through the grapevine
That the barber getting lined up?
Niggas not even cut from what I'm from
Fuck it
Be up front
The Mase white
Seat's peanut punch
We the clean-up bunch
Pull your jeans up for once
The game don't come with a gun like it's Duck Hunt
You got fucked in the butt
That's on the low like a buzz cut
Jealous of you for what
Why would I give two fucks
You ain't got shit I want
I'm the one
I'm narcotics
I come bottled up
I'm a hard act to follow blood
You can't catch no hommos with that hollow gun
I dare you monkeys to try one more stunt
You might need a raincheck
The chain is a pain in the neck
The tre 80 is Mr Potato Head
You bled three different shades of red
That's what the painter said
Read the disclaimer before you skate ahead
Rub your name out with the eraser head
No trace of the dead, just a JPEG
That they can place on the web

Pack flippers feel us
When they see us they tip their hats to us
I went to get the Pat Ewings, the new ones
Aiyo Tip, that was back before I had a computer
With mad bitches on the track
I went to get the black Cadillac a tune up
Your bitch come back smelling like tuna
Lit the room up
Stop listening to the rumors
Me and that bitch never booed up
To tell the truth you not cute enough, whore
But you can sure suck a bowling bowl through a hookah straw
Duel exhaust on the two door raw
Son, bring a fork to share food for thought
Before you enjoy the meal first let it cool off
We playing a long game?
You knock off for your main ball and chain?
That's all then I'ma call it a day
You know the forte
Ralph Lauren draws on but fuck the horseplay
Got sauce for days
You got poor taste
That's water base?
Shit I ain't even playing
I sit down and eat at P.F. Chang's then leave without payin