Bally Belts de Roc Marciano

Oh, man, you already know what it is
Shit, Pimpstead shit, nigga (word)
Give me the light
Word up
Pussy-face niggas, man, yo check it out
Follow suit

Bally belts, presence is felt, I’m somethin’ else
My gun long as hell, it ain’t for huntin’ elk
Preserve self, earn wealth, hurl shells
Twirl a L, burn in Hell
Learn the skill
Turn the steering wheel in the Sedan de Ville
Spanish MILFs eat chamomile
Trill, slipped on a banana peel
Jam the hammer in your grill, and stand on the sand hill
Pop a painkill pill, let the champagne spill
Snake peel, twist the J, lay still
Embrace stale enough to taste veal
Break the seal, my faith is a paper trail
Placed a spell on the ageless belle
The slaves are for sale, from grace fell
Became stealth
Your chain is the third rail
Tears of pain like rain fell
Bask in the glory
Passion, passport spells pausey
The Jag that’s sporty, the pump shotgun call it “shorty”
Niggas in my opinion rap corny
Crash your story in the A4 Audi
My dealer scrape paper form LA to Missouri
Mix the soft drink with the Formula 44-D
Hustling raw with the sore feet
Draw heat, knock the top off your core piece
I stood covered in a long mink
Look sleek, the sneaks is like a toucan beak
The wolf-man dance with the sheep
A grand apiece keep my hands greased
The Sedan it ain’t a lease, the Coup, take off the hairpiece
Speak your piece…
(Feels so…)
Or beat your feet…
(Girl…)