Move Dope - Roc Marciano

All these rappers out here, rapping about the horror thing

They got that from the pimp

They got that from the movies

They got that from the pimps, you know

They’re not pimps

(They're not pimps at all?)

Rappers are rappers

Pimps are pimps

Dope dealers are dope dealers

Hoes are hoes, real ones

The real shit is the real shit

(Rosebud)

It is what it is, fuck what it could have been

Read the bulletin, you just some shit to put some bullets in

Fill the clips, you push this in

Look what I did here with a book and pen

Might stomp you, leave a Gucci footprint

They groom the pimp to Bergdorf Goodman

The handle on the burner wooden

Nigga, ain’t no what-ifs

It’s all real, there ain’t no other way to put it

Niggas pussy, they don’t wanna see us masked up and hooded

Niggas better off sneak dissin'

If we was kids I might send you home with ya sneakers missin'

Listen B, don' leave your bitch with me, she easy pickings

Fo sheezy, I do you greasy like Chinese chicken

Smoke blunts back to back, wore hunchback

The bag made the bungee cord snap

Pull up the foreigns with my gorgeous ass

My smile’s porcelain, my hood’s a gauntlet

Be like them my shit more lit, it’s orange (Glowing baby!)

I’ma say this once and once only

I’m a control freak

I got mind control over freaks

Two hands to secure the mag, dog it’s on

You just pray we don’t cross paths, scorch your ass

Moisture splash on the dash you jackass

I’m just crackin' crabs thanks to all the crackheads

Y’all niggas might need A&Rs

Spray ARs at quasars, you was made with a paper heart

The purple haze in a mason jar

What you take me for, some waiter with a tablecloth?

My sable hang to the floor

The velour I wore is made by Liz Claiborne

Listen baby doll, you get what you paid for

Feel like I got a license to move dope

I feel like I got a license to move dope

I feel like I got a license to move dope

Niggas pull the plan and start spraying shit

You don’t care who you aim and hit, what you an atheist?

Maybe its the AP that lay on the wrist

My leather avi' soft as baby shit

Cop the Range threw the Mercedes in for 80 cent

Move like a kingpin from '86

I’m all covered up with gator and mink

The pump shottie made your body stink, I’m linked

There’s no honor amongst thieves or camaraderie

Small 2 5's in the sleeve surprisingly

You ain’t awake to see them gangstas made of ivory

My three-eight's my gangsta ID

You can’t hide what the naked eye see

Jamaican lady whine for me

Two biscuits like it’s time for tea

I’m like Ice-T times three, drop 'em somewhere to die in peace

Let’s set the record straight, you date hoes on Section 8

My sexual mates, they own real estate

I’m everything you niggas ain’t