Marcy Lyrics

Marcy lyrics

[Memphis Bleek] (DJ Clue)
(Word up!)
Uhh..
I've become a customed to goin through customs
Pound in my pocket hollarin 'F**K THEM!' (What!?)
I'm livin that life that you only talk about
I'm f**kin them hoes that you only thought about
I spend that money but you won't spend about
As much that I made off my single out
Whatchu thinka that?
Niggaz, y'all know
That I kill niggaz slow when I live wit this doe (Holla!)
Got label sick, I know they hate that
I'm makin they artist push them dates back (C'mon!)
I don't need tattoos to prove I pack tools
They had an act fool and become dog food
Memph man, huh-uh, yeah thats me
Same nigga that don't basicly
and I'm still smokin, it be like that
Ya blunt went out, nigga be like that!

Chorus: Memphis Bleek

I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Bleek how?
I'm from M.A.R.C.Y.
B.K. style, see Geda how?

Chorus

[Geda K] (DJ Clue)
Yeah..
I'm finally put in the game
Right where I should be
and a Gat laid right where it should be (Ha ha!)
Violate, you be put where you should be
Have your family and friends screamin 'How could he?'
Walk the streets with a body on his back
Ride around in a V with 'em shoutin in the back (Huh-uh)
and for y'all thats with, that are front for rep
Only thing that I front is hoes and Coke and clips and (?)
CO-D, thats menace to the people
Yeah we sold D and made a livin off of people (Yeah!)
 
Ghetto corrupted us and we taught ourselfs
How to add and scale
Whats bag and sell?
and how to, aim and shoot
and I got brain with the wrist locked
wherever the dot spot leave the tape
You keep actin like you can't dodge the blaze
and I let sixteen of 'em (???)

Chorus 2x

[DJ Clue over Chorus]
New shit! Memphis Bleek!
Geda! Marcy! Fresh out!
(?) Tata! B.I.!

[Memphis Bleek] (DJ Clue)
Picture me rollin in that five hundred Benz
I got no love for you niggaz
There ain't no need to be friends (Clue!)
I give a f**k 'bout 'em
No need to talk 'bout 'em
He act valid, I let the fofo pound 'em
The CO-D's, nigga no statements
Just shot, empty shell casins
No prints, V's no tint
Chrome, Sprint
Six, no chips nigga
R-O yeah M-A
Realist hood in clint nigga, comprende?
You bit*h niggaz know I'm focused right?
You still catch M-E-M lockin right? (Ha ha!)
In the black V, wit the Gat on my lap
Shovel in the trunk, go 'head nigga, front
This M dot E-M-P-H-I-S Bleek copin out to a one (?) 
Bit*h nigga!

Chorus 2x

[DJ Clue over Chorus]
Fresh out! Katina Mogly!
Steve Francis! Houston Rockets!
My nigga Chris Childs!
The popo's down! New York Knicks!

[DJ Clue]
DJ Clue! Desert Storm!
Roc-a-Fella!
The Professional Part 2!
Ha ha!