Marlon Craft - Work Craftstyle lyrics
Marlon Craft [Marlon Sean Cirker] Manhattan, New York, U.S. 🇺🇸
[Marlon Craft - Work Craftstyle lyrics]
Young urban novelist, herb slap a apologist
Leavin rappers dead in my
Wake and they won’t acknowledge it
I’m headed to the top of my own
And they want their bottoms kissed
This Trump shit enough
I ain’t doin industry politics
See, rappers flex but when the mic
Is in all of their hands
They stumblin like Sean Spicer at oral exams
When you really hot ain't nothin
More important than fans so I only do it for
The ones supportin the plans
Settin new precedents
Fuck that orange-ish man
He tryna privatize the world til you
Can’t afford where you stand
There’s too much at stake
I gotta be more than a brand
See, I’m more of a man
And even when I travel the foreign-est
Lands rappin and tourin expand
I’m screamin Hell’s Kitchen and keepin it
New York as I can
See if I could paint a portrait of man I’d
Hang it in the subway
Right below Port Authority, fam
That’s word to everything
My words are everything i do it my way
Even if I’m off like Freddie
Sing or it’s the highway
Never gave a fuck about a fast lane
Godfather of rappin
Check my first and last name
It’s young Brando, you one channel
My tongue vandalizes beats and catalyzes
Heat without not one handout
So don’t approach me I’m on
The block wit a 40
Screamin free Charles Oakley, beggin
Anyone to coach me
Catch an elbow to the throat
See I’m boxin out man, the game is mine
If you miss your shot, when I get the rock
You gon hit the pine
And cats frontin like I ain't
The one to get behind
Ironically they’ll all get left behind
When I get what’s mine
No gang of stars behind me, it's just me
Homie
But shouts to Guru, the legend, man RIP homie
All respect due
But this beat was screamin "Use me"
Hope my rhymes are supreme enough
That Preme don’t sue me
They be like, "Craft, you
Kill it every month
When you gon quit it then?"
Maybe when Van Gundy come and
Coach The Knicks again
Maybe when Charles Barkley’s old
Uniform fit again when it snow in Sahara
It’s a desert in Michigan
Listenin til they lay me down
I’mma lay these nouns, verbs
And adjectives on wax and spit
Until it make me proud
So they can go and try and make
These clouds of smoke and mirrors
Like I ain't the fuckin realest they
Won't ever make me bow, that’s word
Leavin rappers dead in my
Wake and they won’t acknowledge it
I’m headed to the top of my own
And they want their bottoms kissed
This Trump shit enough
I ain’t doin industry politics
See, rappers flex but when the mic
Is in all of their hands
They stumblin like Sean Spicer at oral exams
When you really hot ain't nothin
More important than fans so I only do it for
The ones supportin the plans
Settin new precedents
Fuck that orange-ish man
He tryna privatize the world til you
Can’t afford where you stand
There’s too much at stake
I gotta be more than a brand
See, I’m more of a man
And even when I travel the foreign-est
Lands rappin and tourin expand
I’m screamin Hell’s Kitchen and keepin it
New York as I can
See if I could paint a portrait of man I’d
Hang it in the subway
Right below Port Authority, fam
That’s word to everything
My words are everything i do it my way
Even if I’m off like Freddie
Sing or it’s the highway
Never gave a fuck about a fast lane
Godfather of rappin
Check my first and last name
It’s young Brando, you one channel
My tongue vandalizes beats and catalyzes
Heat without not one handout
So don’t approach me I’m on
The block wit a 40
Screamin free Charles Oakley, beggin
Anyone to coach me
Catch an elbow to the throat
See I’m boxin out man, the game is mine
If you miss your shot, when I get the rock
You gon hit the pine
And cats frontin like I ain't
The one to get behind
Ironically they’ll all get left behind
When I get what’s mine
No gang of stars behind me, it's just me
Homie
But shouts to Guru, the legend, man RIP homie
All respect due
But this beat was screamin "Use me"
Hope my rhymes are supreme enough
That Preme don’t sue me
They be like, "Craft, you
Kill it every month
When you gon quit it then?"
Maybe when Van Gundy come and
Coach The Knicks again
Maybe when Charles Barkley’s old
Uniform fit again when it snow in Sahara
It’s a desert in Michigan
Listenin til they lay me down
I’mma lay these nouns, verbs
And adjectives on wax and spit
Until it make me proud
So they can go and try and make
These clouds of smoke and mirrors
Like I ain't the fuckin realest they
Won't ever make me bow, that’s word