Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song I Shot the King , by - Roc Marciano. Release date: 12.11.2012
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
I Shot the King |
| Real nigga play the field with the long.40 |
| Gator coat like a pimp dressed so gordy |
| Jumpin' out a gold 640 this is his story |
| Bitch I’m in it for the chips and the glory |
| The listeners adore me, fly hoes lay before me |
| You’re not fit to put your heel in a Mauri |
| You’re rich but you’re still corny |
| My crib sit by the rock quarry |
| I’m up twenty five stories |
| Tied in with the shooters, niggas know the resume |
| Red Chevrolet, AK, no pepper spray |
| We shade, see through your image like an X-Ray |
| Collect a pay where the Mets play |
| The chain hang by the chest plate, ignorant shit |
| Quarter million on the wrist |
| Throw you in the water with the fish |
| Paint the town, let the cape hang down |
| Let it spray round, dip the jake |
| Run the hood, dictate, how my dick taste? |
| Great, squished grapes, move at a swift pace |
| Get cake, they imitate, break the template |
| Like an eighth, the blade hit the freebase |
| Treat the brick like an inmate face |
| Run the break like David Wingate |
| Get your shit straight |
| Squeeze the fifth like a thick snake |
| Fixate, nice whips for a rich slave |
| Bang, brain hang like ding-a-ling |
| Bring the banger, every day’s like a cliffhanger |
| Tip the waiter, grace like an ice skater |
| Nice, late night, dice shaker |
| Meet the maker, price, light paper |
| Tight, slice pies, I’m a baker |
| Polite nature, the waves with the light taper |
| .45 that’s a life changer |
| I swung in on a chandelier |
| As we sat there on his throne |
| He turned his head and |
| Shouted Oh No |
| Realize the fact |
| I ain’t never comin' back (This some good shit nigga) |
| I shot the king |
| I shot the king |
| Hit 'em up, jump in the truck |
| Play the cut, caked up |
| My beige gators got scraped up |
| Laces up from the corrupt |
| Lift the cup, your feet go up at the Key Club |
| Keep the snub, sleep snug |
| Release slugs while my ladybug steam in the tub |
| Give me some guns and a mean plug |
| The team grub, twist the green shrub |
| Roll a whole dub |
| Put on the gloves because cut drugs |
| With the thugs before I had peach fuzz |
| Movin' on your turf with the good work |
| Silk shirt, 'Lo quilt, you get killed |
| Lift a fuck nigga kilt, blood spilled |
| Hit the milf, left covered in filth |
| You’re dead with the pistol concealed |
| In the pen field. |
| spin your top like a pinwheel |
| Sit still nigga chill with' a bitch like Ms. Brazil |
| It’s a feel like a young Lauryn Hill |
| Cut the body at the sawmill |
| Every song is a will, my life’s on film |
| I write what I feel, did my time in the field |
| My mind full of diamonds, it’s filled |
| Sniff the fish in a crisp bill |
| It’s the real, swift with the steel |
| Kendall Gill with' the pill, I shoot good from the field |
| Never miss, never will, click your heels |
| It’s a deal, quick get your wig peeled |
| You got fucked, how the dick feel? |