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