Death Parade Lyrics - Reloaded - Roc Marciano

Niggas know I'm the fucking best, word up! 

Can't fuck with me, straight up! 

You know we getting it, straight up! 

I stay close to the Baretta 

Folks that wave toast, know better 

Gross cheddar, cut it up 

Throw it in the shredder 

Hoes sniff lines off of broken mirrors 

I throw five at your smoke tinted, rented 

You hope to try to dip it like Emmitt 

Your image is translucent like a bent ceiling 

I see you trying to blend in like a chameleon 

Gun wielding, I'm on the low, I feel shielded 

But that's a false sense of fulfillment 

Debts are paid in the death parade 

Shots are exchanged from the Escalade 

My late father's name in the chest, engraved 

A pound and three grams 

With the necklace weighed 

Man, a character 

Get clapped up in your Challenger 

The glock 9's black with the silencer 

I'm a bachelor flip pies without the spatula 

You died in the Valentine massacre 

Crime ambassador 

My capturers channel my spirit 

Through the shrine in Africa 

I fly past like a time traveler 

CHORUS 

It all boils down to that green mama 

Niggas squeeze llamas 

Just to seize dollars 

D's and Impalas, street scholars 

Hopping out of V's with them clean Prada's 

Sip pina coladas 

With a mean goddess 

We eastsiders, jeans is knotted 

Niggas don't want it 

Like the HIV virus, word up! 

Wounds and bandages, food and cannabis 

Money management, advantages, damages 

The Spanish fans break banisters 

Gates, and parameters 

They see us wearing chains and amulets 

Handle this, evangelist condo in Los Angeles 

That kind of dough will hold your hand a pimp 

Once away at my descent, my hair is rich 

I forever swear to spit that Blair Witch 

Bare witness to rare shit 

Stare Benzes like airships 

You can't get this pimping out a pamphlet 

Millionaire hand print from a tan prince 

The gear you wear get rinsed 

Buy the tec wit the air vents 

I caress the wood gear shift 

You're weak tomb won't move me 

Not a square inch 

Spit your zucchini tear swift 

Your CTS, tail spent 

BBS rim well bend 

Man of the cloth 

That bullshit endless talk ran its course 

Blam fours til you abandoned the fort 

Got birds like Le Coq Sport at the port 

Salt water on the yacht floorboard 

Popping wine cork 

These are just a crime boss thoughts 

(CHORUS) 

Yeah, yeah nigga! East Coast shit! Fuck with me! 

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