Snow Roc Marciano
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Snow" by Roc Marciano. Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.
[Intro]
Oh shit, oh shit!
Yo look outside son
You see that?
Damn son, it's comin' down right?
Ok
Let's go
[Verse 1: Roc Marciano]
Yeah, yeah
You played the art of war like a chess champ
The wrestler's camp, let's give the man a hand
He used to go hand to hand by the gram
Take a brick and then grind it to sand
Baby girl, my 45. don't jam, Al Pacino wit a tan
Ghetto Casino, rollin' c-lo wit Vito
For nothing under a c-note, nigga, we still reppin' the East Coast
Reaching for toast like TV remotes
Spray cans where graffiti is wrote
And where the media promotes so I appear like a genie in smoke
And for me it's so easy to boast, even when I'm greasy & broke
In a pea coat
And this beat here's good as meatloaf
Better yet a pot roast
Play the block close, if niggas need work
The hits out, better you then me first
Nigga do your research, you'll be six feet beneath dirt
Promise you this much, I'm out for the big bucks, Mr. Big Stuff, get your shit touched
Keep the 45th tucked, nigga kiss butt
Whip the Benz truck, siippin' juice from a pimp's cup, huh
This is money rap, run a hundred & twenty laps
On the track, it's a money wrap
Blat!
Brothers scat, do some jumping jacks
Brothers put out a buncha crap
Now they perfect for tax
Oh shit, oh shit!
Yo look outside son
You see that?
Damn son, it's comin' down right?
Ok
Let's go
[Verse 1: Roc Marciano]
Yeah, yeah
You played the art of war like a chess champ
The wrestler's camp, let's give the man a hand
He used to go hand to hand by the gram
Take a brick and then grind it to sand
Baby girl, my 45. don't jam, Al Pacino wit a tan
Ghetto Casino, rollin' c-lo wit Vito
For nothing under a c-note, nigga, we still reppin' the East Coast
Reaching for toast like TV remotes
Spray cans where graffiti is wrote
And where the media promotes so I appear like a genie in smoke
And for me it's so easy to boast, even when I'm greasy & broke
In a pea coat
And this beat here's good as meatloaf
Better yet a pot roast
Play the block close, if niggas need work
The hits out, better you then me first
Nigga do your research, you'll be six feet beneath dirt
Promise you this much, I'm out for the big bucks, Mr. Big Stuff, get your shit touched
Keep the 45th tucked, nigga kiss butt
Whip the Benz truck, siippin' juice from a pimp's cup, huh
This is money rap, run a hundred & twenty laps
On the track, it's a money wrap
Blat!
Brothers scat, do some jumping jacks
Brothers put out a buncha crap
Now they perfect for tax
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