Death Parade - Roc Marciano

Niggas know I’m the fucking best, word up!

Can’t fuck with me, straight up!

You know we getting it, straight up!

I stay close to the Baretta

Folks that wave toast, know better

Gross cheddar, cut it up

Throw it in the shredder

Hoes sniff lines off of broken mirrors

I throw five at your smoke tinted, rented

You hope to try to dip it like Emmitt

Your image is translucent like a bent ceiling

I see you trying to blend in like a chameleon

Gun wielding, I’m on the low, I feel shielded

But that’s a false sense of fulfillment

Debts are paid in the death parade

Shots are exchanged from the Escalade

My late father’s name in the chest, engraved

A pound and three grams

With the necklace weighed

Man, a character

Get clapped up in your Challenger

The glock 9's black with the silencer

I’m a bachelor flip pies without the spatula

You died in the Valentine massacre

Crime ambassador

My capturers channel my spirit

Through the shrine in Africa

I fly past like a time traveler

CHORUS

It all boils down to that green mama

Niggas squeeze llamas

Just to seize dollars

D’s and Impalas, street scholars

Hopping out of V’s with them clean Prada’s

Sip pina coladas

With a mean goddess

We eastsiders, jeans is knotted

Niggas don’t want it

Like the HIV virus, word up!

Wounds and bandages, food and cannabis

Money management, advantages, damages

The Spanish fans break banisters

Gates, and parameters

They see us wearing chains and amulets

Handle this, evangelist condo in Los Angeles

That kind of dough will hold your hand a pimp

Once away at my descent, my hair is rich

I forever swear to spit that Blair Witch

Bare witness to rare shit

Stare Benzes like airships

You can’t get this pimping out a pamphlet

Millionaire hand print from a tan prince

The gear you wear get rinsed

Buy the tec wit the air vents

I caress the wood gear shift

You’re weak tomb won’t move me

Not a square inch

Spit your zucchini tear swift

Your CTS, tail spent

BBS rim well bend

Man of the cloth

That bullshit endless talk ran its course

Blam fours til you abandoned the fort

Got birds like Le Coq Sport at the port

Salt water on the yacht floorboard

Popping wine cork

These are just a crime boss thoughts

(CHORUS)

Yeah, yeah nigga!

East Coast shit!

Fuck with me!