M.A.R.C.Y.

Lyrics

[Intro: DJ Clue & Memphis Bleek] Word up (Uh) [Verse 1: Memphis Bleek] I've become accustomed to goin' through customs Pound in my pocket hollerin', "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 last single out What you think of that? Niggas, y'all know That I kill niggas slow and I live for this dough (Holla) Got labels sick, I know they hate that I'm makin' they artists push them dates back (C'mon) 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, re-light that [Chorus: Memphis Bleek] I'm from M-A-R-C-Y BK style, see Bleek, how? I'm from M-A-R-C-Y BK style, see Geda how? I'm from M-A-R-C-Y BK style, see Bleek, how? I'm from M-A-R-C-Y BK style, see Geda how? [Verse 2: Geda K & DJ Clue] I'm finally put in the game, right where I should be And the gat lay 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 the shotty in the back (Uh-huh) And for y'all that swear that I front for rep Only thing that I front is Os of 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 (Yeah) 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 [Chorus: Memphis Bleek & DJ Clue] I'm from M-A-R-C-Y BK style, see Bleek, how? (New shit, Memphis Bleek) I'm from M-A-R-C-Y BK style, see Geda how? (Geda) I'm from M-A-R-C-Y (Marcy) BK style, see Bleek, how? (Fat shout Carter Faculty) I'm from M-A-R-C-Y (Tata) BK style, see Geda how? (B-High) [Verse 3: Memphis Bleek & DJ Clue] Picture me rollin' in that five hundred Benz I got no love for you niggas it ain't no need to be friends (Clue) 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-Ds, nigga, no statements Just shots, empty shell casings No prints, Vs no tint Phone, Sprint, six, no chips, nigga R-O, yeah, M-A Realest hood and clique nigga, comprende? You bitch niggas know I'm focused, right? You still catch M-E-M locin' right? (Ha-ha) In the black V, with 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 [Chorus: Memphis Bleek & DJ Clue] I'm from M-A-R-C-Y BK style, see Bleek, how? (Fat shout) I'm from M-A-R-C-Y (Cuttino Mobley) BK style, see Geda how? (Steve Francis, Houston Rockets) I'm from M-A-R-C-Y (My nigga Chris Childs) BK style, see Bleek, how? (LaVar Postell) I'm from M-A-R-C-Y (New York Knicks) BK style, see Geda how? (Word Up) [Outro: DJ Clue] DJ Clue, Desert Storm Roc-A-Fella The Professional part two Ha-ha