| Bro, from the start, had the hardest bars, bitch, I’m Marcus Smart
|
| I go hard since the magic cards make republitards
|
| Mow my yard when I’m on the charts, I might own a shark
|
| You peers spark from your neighbor’s car, haters, oh my God
|
| Local star for my vocal art, stages smoke and charred
|
| Disregard, got me broken heart, eatin' golden arch
|
| Throw a dart, hope my phone is charged before I’m blown apart
|
| I hope my daughters be like Joan of Arc, my son like Bonaparte, ay
|
| Here’s a fresh batch of lies for my self-esteem
|
| So my kids could profit off it later when I’m elderly
|
| I thought by now, I’d stop rappin'
|
| But I just made too much of profit off it to stop it, it has to happen
|
| Got the best-sellin' discography, in my geography
|
| Slow-mo snow blowers in my cinematography
|
| Bro, what? |
| You want xans? |
| Thinkin' Speez don’t touch cheese
|
| It’s on my hands, I’m pepperoni
|
| My flow’s so cold, Steve Austin on the zamboni
|
| Leave the beat yellow and purple, like, «Damn, Kobe!»
|
| You just gotta shake me sometimes like ketchup
|
| 'cause I wanna kill bad guys like Dexter
|
| My catalog speaks for itself, like, «Alexa
|
| Play Spose songs so that Spose could buy the Tesla!»
|
| Probably s’posed to be a hook there
|
| Whoops, where? |
| I stole the show with the crook glare
|
| Put it out quick like it’s cooked rare
|
| Preferred, 'cause my words touch kids like a book fair, hold up
|
| Look, player (whoo) this the bar type melee
|
| My first trial, certified RIAA
|
| I was doin' lyrical shit, they were doin' «A Bay Bay»
|
| I guess I hit it first with my bars, I’m Ray J
|
| Wait, hold up, Teddy
|
| I kinda feel like I should’ve blown up heavy
|
| Wait, you know what, Betty?
|
| I was a young woodsman, became a grown up yeti
|
| Feelin' like a used bullet, had my shot already
|
| Look, promoters better hand several grand in advance
|
| I deserve a Grammy for that album that I did with Chan
|
| Guess it wasn’t in the plans
|
| Still got more paper than Jim and Pam from my fans
|
| They even got the underground shit that I did with Cam
|
| And my signature ink imprinted on their skin
|
| Between Instagram and Scribble Jam, I’m the patch of land
|
| The middle man between 2Pac and Lil Xan
|
| First in orbit, I’m John Glenn
|
| Heavy content, every song ten, call me Sean Penn
|
| Respond with an emoji to your extra long text
|
| Pockets convexed, thought my run was over, not yet
|
| More weed than a cop’s desk, man, they tryin' me
|
| American anxiety, I wake up in a hot sweat
|
| I hope I see it clear before I fade away
|
| But I been runnin' shit around here, I sip some Gatorade
|
| Since I was a minor, I’ve been pinin' for some major pay
|
| I’ve endured a cavalcade of hate
|
| I deserve a alligator steak, bro, run and tell your nearest
|
| It’s the three time champion who they wanna smoke a beer with
|
| Need a damn parade after I blow like a hand grenade
|
| I don’t even do shit these days and I still get paid
|
| I got the guts I never got the glory for
|
| More risk than reward, public speakin' deep as quarry floor
|
| Woodsy premises, my kids in my radius
|
| I hate white supremacists, rest in peace to Alias
|
| It’s twenty-two, I don’t fuck with you, bimp my attitude
|
| P. Dank crew, them my bros, my dudes, oh, and Sarah too
|
| We’ve been through, all these ups and downs, we roll though your town
|
| Shut it down, this the people’s sound, when I’m on the mound
|
| Strike! |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Marcus Smart, artist - Spose. Album song Going Home EP, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп