Word up
Uhh
I've become accustomed to goin' through customs
Pound in my pocket hollerin', "Fuck them"
I'm livin' that life that you only talk about
I'm fuckin' them hoes that you only thought about
I spend that money but you won't spend about
As much that I made off my last single out
Whatchu think of that? Niggaz, y'all know
That I kill niggaz slow when I live for this dough
Got labels sick, I know they hate that
I'm makin' they artists push them dates back
I don't need tattoos to prove I pack tools
Go 'head and act fool and become dog food
Memph Man, uh-huh, yeah that's me
Same nigga that don't give a "Basically"
And I'm still smokin', it be like that
Ya blunt went out, nigga relight that
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Bleek how?
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Geda how?
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Bleek how?
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Geda how?
Yeah, I'm finally put in the game, right where I should be
And the gat laid right where it should be
Violate, you be put where you should be
Have your family and friends screamin', "How could he?"
Walk the streets with a body on his back
Ride around in a V with the shottie in the back
And for y'all that swear, that I front for rep
Only thing that I front is hoes and coke and clips of tef
With a co-D, that's a, menace to the people
Yeah we sold D and made a livin' off of people
Ghetto, corrupted us, and we taught ourselves
How to add and scale plus bag and sell
And how to, aim and shoot and I got brain when the wrist locked
Wherever the dot spot leave the tape
You keep actin' like you can't die in a blaze
And I let sixteen of 'em dive in your wake
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Bleek how?
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Geda how?
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Bleek how?
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Geda how?
Picture me rollin' in that five hundred Benz
I got no love for you niggaz it ain't no need to be friends
I give a fuck 'bout 'em, no need to talk 'bout 'em
He act 'bout it, I let the fo'-fo' pound 'em
The co-D's, nigga no statements
Just shots, empty shell casings
No prints, V's no tint
Phone, Sprint, Six, no chips nigga
R-O yeah M-A
Realist hood and clique nigga, comprende?
You bitch niggaz know I'm focused right?
You still catch M-E-M loc'n right?
In the black V, wit' the gat on my lap
Shovel in the trunk, go 'head nigga, front
This M dot E-M-P-H-I-S Bleek
Coppin' out to a one to three, you bitch nigga
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Bleek how?
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Geda how?
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Bleek how?
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Geda how?
DJ Clue, Desert Storm
Roc-a-Fella
The Professional Part 2