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Flee Lord & Roc Marciano - Shouts To The Mobb/Medusa (feat. Conway The Machine)
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Créditos

AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN
Flee Lord
Flee Lord
Künstler:in
Roc Marciano
Roc Marciano
Künstler:in
David Paul Cordova
David Paul Cordova
Rap
Demond Price
Demond Price
Rap
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
David Paul Cordova
David Paul Cordova
Songwriter:in
Rahkeim Calief Meyer
Rahkeim Calief Meyer
Songwriter:in
Demond Price
Demond Price
Songwriter:in
PRODUKTION UND TECHNIK
Roc Marciano
Roc Marciano
Produzent:in

Letras

Ayo, Roc, the fuck is good, woe?
Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay, okay
Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay
Lord Mobb (Lord Mobb) remember the stutter step
Killed the lobster, ain't nothin' but lemon and butter left
Blue ribbon for the chef, couple thou' on my left
I'm callin' up TF if I'm out on the West
Ridin' out with Funk, it's some fire in the trunk
Dope just banged my line, he said he flyin' out at once
Back out on East, ask Jag how we feast
Eat those small, buddy, drag that black mag out the seat
Mephux and Trill turn the heat up, no chill
Ayo, Bangs let it hang like a D-cup for real
Gonna call Act, he my gunner on track
Shady took his bag and bought a hundred more gats
I come with all facts, got bums in all black
Once Frenchie clean the beat, we drummin' off that
Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay, okay
I said Frenchie clean the beat, we drummin' off that
Yo Vic Spence, what's good, woe?
(Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay) Scythe
Yeah, we in New Orleans too, ay!
It never occurred to me the beautiful words
Would be the way that I'd express myself
What I'm trying to say in such a fancy way
Is "Girl, can I help—?"
Okay, okay (boom-boom)
Let's go, woe (boom-boom)
Lord Lord!
About to set up a tour (about to set up a tour)
No more wettin up your door
Drum professionals and whores (drum professionals and whores)
All respectin' us for sure (yeah), connectin' us with raw (yeah)
Lord protection in the drawer, my whole section, we was poor
Got busy, then we went and opened up a store
Roll my choppers in the crib, but I blow 'em on my lawn
Sayin' prayers for my peers, Act holdin' his Quran
We all soldiers from beyond, controlling more than pawns
Flee, I walk through hell fire, time frozen on my arm
All my pockets full and demure, 'bout to pull
Checkin' raw, Gucci silk with Dior, got the wool
Got the money, stay clickin', eatin' honey-glazed chicken
Every gang got the music heard, we runnin' eight prisons
Sippin' white Henny with the red grenadine
We was grubbin like its nothing 'til the feds intervened
Rock like Medusa headed (rock like Medusa headed)
Block full of crucifixes (block full of crucifixes)
Image vivid, spooky with it (image vivid, spooky with it)
Stupid when the water hit it (stupid when the water hit it)
Bust a .40 'til it's empty, I'm on tour with the extendi
Bunch of foreign shit in my driveway, my shorty get the Bentley
I can't share my throne with these **** no more, I'm just too stingy
I come in rockin' SBs that cost more than your Balencis
Look, the flow like raw cocaine snorted through a Benji
I jumped off the porch in elementary, man, all these **** too iffy
Set it up to get more than me, you always was against me
Bet it hurt them **** more to see me winning, look
Selling cracks before the deal, corner store, lil kids findin' 40 shells
Now look, I'm 'bout to close a deal for forty, chill
**** say they gettin' to a bag, well I can hardly tell
No lie, a label offered me five, I said "You short two mil'"
Time for a tortoise shell, big pointers on my wrist
My shit look like a water spill, bricks come in from Florida still
I only tell you half the story but it's more to tell
Machine, bitch, ah
Rock like Medusa headed (rock like Medusa headed)
Block full of crucifixes (block full of crucifixes)
Image vivid, spooky with it (image vivid, spooky with it)
Stupid when the water hit it (stupid when the water hit it)
Written by: David Paul Cordova, Demond Price, Rahkeim Calief Meyer

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