Roc Marciano Death Parade Lyrics

Reloaded Track Listing
CD 1
  • 1 Tek to a Mack
  • 2 Flash Gordon
  • 3 Not Told
  • 4 Pistolier
  • 5 Thugs Prayer, Part 2
  • 6 76
  • 7 We Ill
  • 8 Deeper
  • 9 Death Parade
  • 10 20 Guns
  • 11 Peru
  • 12 Thread Count
  • 13 Nine Spray
  • 14 Emeralds
  • 15 The Man
  • 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
    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
    Yeah, yeah nigga! East Coast shit! Fuck with me!

    Artists A to Z: