Soul Music Roc Marciano (Ft. A.G.)

[Hook: Roc Marciano]
Live niggas in the front, fake niggas in the back
Fly bitches in the middle, shake just a little, uh
Shake just a little, uh
Lord, yeah, uh

[Verse 1: Roc Marciano]
I said, straight cheese, please
My shit is money
Niggas talking that old, sounding like assholes
It's laughable, it won't bring traffic through
Let it do what it do, cock-a-doodle-doo
I'll put the cock to your boo's doo-doo chute
What's the square root to a cooch? It's a coup
Remove my suit, bitches tryna work the root
To no avail, and if so then it's snowin' in Hell
Go for delf, there's no room on the coattail
The game's risky like a coke sell, my hoe hail from New Rochelle
I smoke while she paint her toenails
Explain what to who? Nigga fuck you
You light about a buck two, I been nice
My fly entry is complimentary
Hence no weapon shall prosper against me
Swing the pages, my Paper Mate creates phrases
My right hand is like Frazier's, uh
Gray stages, niggas bit the wave, it's contagious
I been knew I was destined for greatness
Pour my cup baby, I'm just warming up
Me and the money, we falling in love
(Mwah, mwah, mwah, I love you baby)
Uh, word, uh (Mwah)
Sweet kisses in the night to Barry White
'Til they put me in the chair like "Suge" Marion Knight
Lil' daddy never carrying light, cool Miami nights
The reality bites (Bum ass niggas)