Here I Am - Roc Marciano

Chef up for this nigga

Why don’t you throw me some baking soda

Some eggs too

Yeah nigga

Uh, we chef’ing up

Who you think you impress when you dressing up?

(Uh)

Stick your chest out you get your breast cut

Get off my left nut

I pull a 7 up

Ya’ll ain’t said much

My young niggas head hunt

Have your shit looking like egg foo young (mmmm)

Ya’ll finished or ya’ll done?

I might done you with the small gun

My man brung the drum

Let’s give the drummer some

Rum-pum pum pum

I let a hot one run in your cummerbund

Blood was all on his tux buttoned up

His buddies thought he might eat a few, he was muscular

But he didn’t, finish

I had the mask on

I had to just lift it to let him know who did this (I did this)

I ate your food, it was delicious

My Haitian bitch, she doing voodoo with the chickens

Pinky ring and Cartier ingot king shit

Full length mink shit, sipping pink shit (yeah)

Fly shooters in from Kingston with the things gripped

Itchy trigger finger tips, two Gucci wingtips

All my jewelry clean bitch

You see this shit?

You see me?

Check me out

Check me out bitch

Nigga I’m back

Marc Baby

Charge for interviews too

Yeah, five bands

Just to sit down

And bust it up

Fuck out of here

Uh, hate it or love it I’m just laying in comfort

I made the punches in the rubber Tim Duncans

I did my numbers while you was in the tub with rubber ducklings (uhhh)

I was on some rubber glove shit

Pumping fish, pockets lumpy like pufferfish

The pump was in the truck, my leather looking like pumpkin skin

We hustled in the Comfort Inn, I still got one foot in

This is my life, look how wonderful it is

Bulletproof the Benz, this Rosebudd’s Revenge

This where your road ends, I put that on my gold Rolex

Who knows what’s next

I’m here with moguls sniffing coke on the desk

I never copped my blow compressed, it stretched, it stretched

Silk windbreakers and BM’s racing

Maybe they ???

like Jason Statham

Paper chasing, Ducati shades for aviation, out the atrium

They say he a pimp, get money out a bitch off a corner like a ATM (hahaha)

Get money out a bitch out the corner like a ATM (hahaha)

Yeah boy, can’t make no shit up

Don’t ever get it fucked up boyee

Pimpstead boyee

Shit is jewlery nigga

Could wear this nigga

Could wear my rhymes boyee