We Ill - Roc Marciano

Folding bills where I hone my skills

I was a soldier in the field

Where you only get to eat what you could kill

I keep the steel in the clean Seville

Bad bitch rolling off a E pill

Treat a rich ho like a cheap thrill

We ill, we ill, we ill, we ill

Ain’t no love, and if it was

I wouldn’t own a snub and some gloves

Seen niggas get plugged over the grub

Hoes got dug, your 0−5 bug will hit the mud

I hit the pub, lifted the mug

Bitches hit the club

I slipped a clip in the gun

Niggas on the run

My skin don’t get enough sun

I had to winter my lungs to overcome

I’m still paying for my past sins

Sitting in the E class Benz

Black ski mask, black timbs, platinum mac ten

That’ll shatter your Cadillac tints

Strange days, cocaine’s weighed by the eighth

Young niggas is chased by the jakes

Create freebase

He bakes pies and cakes

And fiends form lines to taste

I played the A8

While my primates decides your fate

And killed the vampire with the stake

I’m a threat behind the designer specs

Fly, you might find me in a spiderweb

Don Juan dialect, Hawaiian dime

Got her by the neck

What’s your pimping worth?

When you pick the lint off shirts

Whores disperse for kids

To put the fork in dessert

For talking, I put the Porsche in reverse

Flesh get tossed into the Earth

After I draw and squirt

I plant my feet upon foreign dirt

Roll up the purp, with a smug «fuck you» smirk

I lift the Rosé up til the muscles burn

Hustle and earn

The handle on the thirty two is pearl

Do a set of concentration curls

High fashion, climaxing on satin

The outside of the tilapia was blackened

Share the gift, wood gear shift

I appear in the mist

Then dip like Tokyo Drift

Caress the fifth like Professor Griff

Texture is slick

Ten in your whip

Now may you rest with the fish

Squeeze Glocks for stocks, three quarter fox

Thick big pitbull jawlock, I’m the warlock

My lines go for ten a pop like orange tops

Fuck you niggas with a horse’s cock

I’m taking mines off the top

Whores watch as we board the yacht

Like George C. Scott, Ciroc

Five drops of olive oil in the wok

Presidential watch, call it Barack

Black face shit, with the invisible locks

To get you shot just like the Hitchcock plot

We ill, we ill, we ill, we ill