Trojan Horse Roc Marciano (Ft. Busta Rhymes)

[Intro: Roc Marciano]
Uh, uh
Yo, yo Jazz, tell niggas over in mu'fuckin’ Rum Haven cut the mu'fuckin' check (uh)
Stop playin’ wit' me, hah
Oh, most definitely
Ya'll already know what the fuck this shit is, nigga
It's a hostile takeover, nigga, ya dig?
Marc, baby
The best in the business
Yeah, you feel me?
Mm, come on

[Verse 1: Roc Marciano]
Yo, we America's most wanted
The forty colt stay close by the stomach
The block a 100, I'm a product of it
The tri-color Vacheron was flooded, it suffered
The face look flustered, it's blushin'
Well, somethin’ buxom jumped in the tux, and
The guts colored Robitussin
The gun come with elephant tusks where you clutch it
The gator luggage got tough skin, you gotta love it, come and rub it
If it ain’t come from us, throw it in the rubbish (trash it)
Cut the top off the Rolls, it's uncovered
I feel exposed, I’m reluctant to even let the sun in
My necklace, son, it look like an electric current
If you touch it, you can feel it buzzin', almost like it's plugged in (bzz, bzz)
That's that talk that core niggas pick up on (uhh)
It’s like a whistle, only meant for dogs to hear the calls
This was written with Liquid Swords by the mixing board, the plot thickens
I dipped my fingers in the sauce (uh)
Licked it off like a bulldog front the liquor store (boot, boot, boot, boot)
Shots ricocheted off the Benz's door like a pinball
I'm goin', alls you heard was the engine roar (ooh!)
Champagne on the plane, I'm chippin' away at a brick of yay until it's flakes
My bitch from Gates, sniffin' big eight
Diamond cuts on a nigga figure eight
Let's get this shit straight, these hitters, ain't no strippers in this cake (uh)