Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song M.A.R.S. (feat. Cormega, Action Bronson, Roc Marciano & Saigon), artist - Large Professor. Date of issue: 25.06.2012
Song language: English
M.A.R.S. (feat. Cormega, Action Bronson, Roc Marciano & Saigon) |
| Even the hardest rhymers know I got desire and heart |
| Like John Starks when «The Dunk» had the Garden |
| Wilding, triumph was short-lived |
| But the moment is timeless |
| Words hold weight like consignment, never break your silence |
| If you face indictment, take it like a man |
| A thousand deaths is a lot of sweat |
| Satan’s fire rages like the 80's |
| Tyson blazin souls of those that say we came from science |
| Ain’t as wise as they like us to believe, think about it |
| What made us conscious? |
| A greater power gave us all the gift of life |
| Be grateful for it before the creator calls you |
| Witnessing a great performance, I ain’t conforming |
| I crush those who want it then weigh the powder of they persona |
| On the highest scale of rhyming they’ve encountered |
| A peak harder to reach than Himalayan mountains |
| People say I’m calmer, I consider it evolving |
| I’m sick of facing charges And my mental game is stronger |
| As rain falls on my executive trench |
| With the waist belt |
| Base dealt make your face melt |
| Toast to fortune, diamonds in the coffin |
| Pinky extended, getting twisted like a blender |
| Grown man rap, grown man pockets |
| Never catch a statutory, eating cacciatore |
| You like a scungill', peel when you see steel |
| Me, I’ll squeeze it til it’s empty, then I refill |
| We sitting, playing gin rummy |
| Chips of hash like the Rock of Gibraltar |
| Cop my pops a Porsche |
| Gun metal with the rocket launcher |
| You getting wetter when I pop it off |
| I got bitches making salsa sauce with they blouses off |
| Shorty shoot the gun soft like a mouse’s cough |
| Four hundred dollars what it cost for an ounce of broth |
| Collect the paper, then I’m bouncing off |
| That’s me |
| As I mastermind, craft rhymes made of heroin |
| Head nod, lines on a higher echelon |
| With fly epilogue, Gore-tex belt checker |
| Bought three Hecklers, the sun gleam on my complexion |
| Completion, eclectic in fleeces |
| Expensive oils and greases, slacks with the creases |
| Black Jesus in Moncler geeses, sample cheeses |
| Antique hammer squeezing |
| My grammar like ham, shit is seasoned |
| Bitches from Greek to Polynesian |
| Wallabeein' out in Sweden |
| While I be out for green like a vegan |
| Stay thorough, decorated in metal |
| Chain yellow, grape flavor cigarellos |
| Days are mellow, Good fellows put change on your sombrero |
| Slugs out the gun bellow, hit the falsetto |
| I twist chickens in the six-inch stilettos |
| Use the elbow to split your wig |
| Male chauvinistic pig |
| Fuck a nigga bitch like ol' Kells did to Mr. Bigg |
| But I don’t keep it on the low, I blow the shit up |
| If he show up at my crib, that old fucker get cut |
| Nigga, I throw a left hook at your grandpop |
| While Chef Action Bronson cook up them lamb chop |
| After that, we gonna eat a rapper for dessert |
| Mega got the blood of emcees on a napkin in his shirt |
| You’re acting like you’re berserk |
| Nigga, that’ll get you hurt |
| Dragged all over the floor, be a tragedy for sure |
| They thought I might have fell off, so I had to get to work |
| Show em how it goes down |
| When I put the pronouns and them adjectives to work |
| Ah, niggas get murked |
| The perk? |
| I think I’m blessed cause I’m eye-seeing them |
| Roc Mars said it’s cause I got bars and I’m nicer than them |
| They all right, I ain’t as biased as him |
| Nah, I’m lying; |
| them niggas drier than psoriasis skin |
| Lyrically, I’m a messiah to them |
| Sing em a rockabye |
| It’s gonna be Mega Action happening when you Roc with Sai |
| That’s M.A.R.S., motherfucker, and I’m not gone lie |
| Hip-Hop is something we came to occupy |
| Tell em why |