DJ Clue - M.A.R.C.Y. текст песни

[Memphis Bleek] (DJ Clue)
(Word up!)
Uhh..
I've become a customed to goin through customs
Pound in my pocket hollarin "FUCK THEM!" (What!?)
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 single out
Whatchu thinka that?
Niggaz, y'all know
That I kill niggaz slow when I live wit this doe (Holla!)
Got label sick, I know they hate that
I'm makin they artist push them dates back (C'mon!)
I don't need tattoos to prove I pack tools
They had an act fool and become dog food
Memph man, huh-uh, yeah thats me
Same nigga that don't basicly
and I'm still smokin, it be like that
Ya blunt went out, nigga be like that!

Chorus: Memphis Bleek

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?

Chorus

[Geda K] (DJ Clue)
Yeah..
I'm finally put in the game
Right where I should be
and a Gat laid right where it should be (Ha ha!)
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 'em shoutin in the back (Huh-uh)
and for y'all thats with, that are front for rep
Only thing that I front is hoes and Coke and clips and (?)
CO-D, thats menace to the people
Yeah we sold D and made a livin off of people (Yeah!)
Ghetto corrupted us and we taught ourselfs
How to add and scale
Whats bag and sell?
and how to, aim and shoot
and I got brain with the wrist locked
wherever the dot spot leave the tape
You keep actin like you can't dodge the blaze
and I let sixteen of 'em (???)

Chorus 2x

[DJ Clue over Chorus]
New shit! Memphis Bleek!
Geda! Marcy! Fresh out!
(?) Tata! B.I.!

[Memphis Bleek] (DJ Clue)
Picture me rollin in that five hundred Benz
I got no love for you niggaz
There ain't no need to be friends (Clue!)
I give a fuck 'bout 'em
No need to talk 'bout 'em
He act valid, I let the fofo pound 'em
The CO-D's, nigga no statements
Just shot, empty shell casins
No prints, V's no tint
Chrome, Sprint
Six, no chips nigga
R-O yeah M-A
Realist hood in clint nigga, comprende?
You bitch niggaz know I'm focused right?
You still catch M-E-M lockin right? (Ha ha!)
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 copin out to a one (?)
Bitch nigga!

Chorus 2x

[DJ Clue over Chorus]
Fresh out! Katina Mogly!
Steve Francis! Houston Rockets!
My nigga Chris Childs!
The popo's down! New York Knicks!

[DJ Clue]
DJ Clue! Desert Storm!
Roc-a-Fella!
The Professional Part 2!
Ha ha!