
Thug’s Prayer Roc Marciano
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[Intro]
Yeah, yeah, come on
Peace my nigga
That’s what I’m talkin’ about
Shed a thug’s tear, say a thug prayer
Put money in my mom’s hand
[Verse 1: Roc Marciano]
Yo, we took money, put ‘em under the study
Went from skinny to chubby in the city that’s gully
Back again, it’s the hideous, ugly gritty McGillicutty
Put the squeeze on a nigga like Silly Putty
Keep the arm chunky, fingers is heavy, plus (what else?)
The ring sparkle in your grill like 7 Up
In the Lexus truck, dressed up, word to Dapper Dan
Gold bands on the hand like Shazam (damn!)
Throw a thunderbolt, rappers will somersault (uh-huh)
Pelle’s butter soft, crabs in butter sauce
Perhaps let a couple off, skin bubble off
Hustlin’ soft, up in the loft
Ain’t no love lost (nah), just thug lords and drug wars (uh-huh)
Big butt whores to crush raw (get ‘em)
Hit dust blunts and eight-inch pumps
Dick sucked, they ain’t make faces crunch, the clutch got paper cuts (ugh)
Nothing is sacred to us, whether it be cake crust
Grape nuts, no bacon deluxe
As if niggas is duct taped up and mistaken for lunch
My stomach been aching for months (come on)
Hands shakin’ while I’m making this up, blazin’ a dutch
Turning the pages in my book
Where cocaine is cooked we stay put, slang drugs there
We say a thug’s prayer
Yeah, yeah, come on
Peace my nigga
That’s what I’m talkin’ about
Shed a thug’s tear, say a thug prayer
Put money in my mom’s hand
[Verse 1: Roc Marciano]
Yo, we took money, put ‘em under the study
Went from skinny to chubby in the city that’s gully
Back again, it’s the hideous, ugly gritty McGillicutty
Put the squeeze on a nigga like Silly Putty
Keep the arm chunky, fingers is heavy, plus (what else?)
The ring sparkle in your grill like 7 Up
In the Lexus truck, dressed up, word to Dapper Dan
Gold bands on the hand like Shazam (damn!)
Throw a thunderbolt, rappers will somersault (uh-huh)
Pelle’s butter soft, crabs in butter sauce
Perhaps let a couple off, skin bubble off
Hustlin’ soft, up in the loft
Ain’t no love lost (nah), just thug lords and drug wars (uh-huh)
Big butt whores to crush raw (get ‘em)
Hit dust blunts and eight-inch pumps
Dick sucked, they ain’t make faces crunch, the clutch got paper cuts (ugh)
Nothing is sacred to us, whether it be cake crust
Grape nuts, no bacon deluxe
As if niggas is duct taped up and mistaken for lunch
My stomach been aching for months (come on)
Hands shakin’ while I’m making this up, blazin’ a dutch
Turning the pages in my book
Where cocaine is cooked we stay put, slang drugs there
We say a thug’s prayer
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