Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bruh Man, artist - Roc Marciano. Album song The Pimpire Strikes Back, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 03.06.2020
Record label: Marci Enterprises
Song language: English
Bruh Man |
Crash Beamers, get my slacks out the cleaners |
My queen don’t even speak English |
Watches on arms, rings on fingers |
Notes played like Coltrane and Mingus |
If you can’t play the game, wing it |
Remember Lee? |
The same as me, wing men, smooth as Luther Ingram |
Ordained, shoe game strained, Eddie Kane’s pain |
Heavy chain, sex, cocaine, a fresh chest pain |
Dress plain, clever, White Plains, my life’s changed |
Polite ways, nice waves, white slaves |
My Nikes is like the ice age, Ice Capades |
I rock the Issac Hayes shades, it was a phase |
The legacy, the flesh of an emcee is a delicacy |
I delicately squeeze shots from the celibacy |
I’m like Denzel in Pelican Brief |
The Porsche is yellow like American cheese (please) |
My taste in women’s like Sade, we left the soiree |
The Jaguar’s gray, the caviar’s great |
Swipe the black card, 4.6 come with the crash bar |
The seats is white like Terry Bradshaw |
It’s a tough business, I’m duckin' the sentence |
Hustlers, sinners, crushin' the fiddish |
A touch of spinach, bruh man, nigga chillin, nigga chillin' |
Bruh man, nigga chillin' |
Water whippin' work — whip the furt (merk) |
Twist purp, hit ‘em where it hurt |
$ 800 dollar shirt, bitches flirt, I kick up dirt |
Shit, Bert, Benzes with the skirt, rubber get burnt |
Duckin' 5−0, whoa, Tae Bo |
Eyes low, keep the .45 by the thigh bone |
Chanel socks, Glocks, tip the bellhop |
Checks is in the mailbox, to think we used to sell rocks |
Flex the gators with the petrified eye |
Accessorize, neck ties, cuff links, rough minks |
Just think, I can knock your buzzard just with one blink |
‘Cause it ain’t nothin' sweet, buckin' heat, hookers rub feet |
Hoes we never cuff ‘em, let ‘em run free |
The clothes? |
Shit is custom — we run things, things don’t run we |
Crocodiled-down, Dundee |
Yo, it’s a done D, hoes often tell me I got dumb Gs |