Roc Marciano, Black Thought - Diamond Cutters lyrics

Uh, pimps in the motherfuckin' buildin'
Marc, baby, you already know what
The fuck it is, nigga
We set the precedent out here, you can't
You gotta be kiddin' me, nigga
Knock it off, niggas following
Uh, follow me though

Yo, rubber burners in them Germans
We some earners
Earnest, we don't give a fuck
We some virgins
Versace shirt, Medusa head with the serpents
Disturbing
The folks in the church was nervous
Spikes on the Louboutins like a sea urchin
You don't see my me networkin'
He's not a people person
I was speakin' on me but in third person
If violence hurts how we eatin'
It defeats the purpose
Uh, whole cameras in the thirty clip
Pray your soul get to enter that pearly fence
Deals with the devil
Snoop with the Shirley Temps
Murder was the case they gave a pimp
(murder was the case that they gave me)
Eventually niggas learned in the long run
Your friends turn enemies
Little things is important
Got popped, went to court once
Since then, been on the run
Niggas thought I was finished
I'm just warming it up uh
Once again, it's on
Pistols get drawn with no pencil point
Shot fish, shit talk the oriental joint
Thought it was civil 'til we
Kicked you in your groin this shit is noise
I'm on steroids forever poised
Floyd Mayweather with the cheddar boy
This a different era
Ain't no missin' glass slippers
Given to Cinderellas
Bitches running my errands (Marc)
Fuck what you yellin'
Niggas jealous and they feel us
If we ain't gelling
Accept it and don't be desperate
Niggas extra (extra) fuck, we next up
Rosebudd did it's numbers
We doin' chest bumps

Condo shoppin' in Cabo, the condom broke
That don't mean that's my child though
Condo shoppin' in Cabo, the condom broke
That don't mean that's my child though

Ay yo every sports coat got to be bespoke
Keep a non-believer chokin' on cohiba smoke
Keep a wide receiver open
Like convenience stores
Am I a Henry Ford or the Lord? I'm either-or
These rappers is more weak
Sweeter than Rita Ora
Y'all whole fuck boy squad this
Shit ain't even for
Its for esteemed honorees, not the nominees
This shit is for the proper G's
Not the minor leagues
Smellin' like a pot of greens
Is some kind of creed

I achieved greatness, switchin' between faces
If ain't a Cartier on your sleeve
It seems naked dream chasing delirium
The criterion is from Senegal
The homie Nigerian, look
With the twelve gauge long
Beneath the black burka
The track murker give a fuck
Like a sex worker
It's a sad state of affairs
It's a tear-jerker
The duffel bag circa '95 Gurkha
Slaughter without borders
War in close quarters
Joke is on whoever spoke
For 'em it's post mortem
They prayed that the story they
Told could hold water better make it wait
Sure to disobey direct orders
We faceless and move
Throughout forgotten spaces
The rooftops, alleys, vacant lots
And basements