We ain’t got no room for her."
And I looked at my pockets, I said, "Yeah, we gon' have room for this woman. I go to bed wit' men for money."
I said, "What dat is?" Ya know? [Intro: Fillmore Slim]
She said, uh, "I wanna go wit' ya"
This the part I ain’t understand
I said, "What ya mean, ya wanna go wit' ya?"
"I wanna be-I wan-I wan-I wanna be-I wanna be ya woman," ya know? I'ma put one over there, I'm a put a bitch over there
I'ma sit on another bitch like a chair
Know what I'm sayin'? We gon' take her back and one o' y'all got to catch the bus."
[Verse 1: Roc Marciano]
Yo, uh, nobody's perfect but I'm close (I'm close)
I can't be cloned when I was made after they broke the mold (break it)
It was written in stone (stone)
I'm brilliant, just peep what I did with the stove (look)
Uh, your skin'll get cold, I'm killin' shit, I'll never get parole (never)
Uh, holmes, we got different roles, I chose the forbidden road (the forbidden road)
All I had was the toast in my signature Rolls (mmm)
Still got it poppin' though, this my Picasso, hoe
Pop the top, your brains on the side of the road look like a taco bowl (woah)
I dipped off in the yacht, this one of Chapo's boats (wooh!)
My hair was blowin' in the wind like Fabio's (haha, uhhh adios)
The Maserati I drove this like the one that John Gotti owned (Gotti owned)
If I'm ridin' with wifey, it's probably the Ghost (probably)
Lil' mami beside me fly, she's from the Ivory Coast (facts)
Uh, I carved a lane out for myself (for myself)
As for the yay, you can't weigh, it'll break the scale
I came to came with the tale, Alexander Wang made the alligator belt (ow)
These no-talent rappers is fabricatin' tales, uh (get 'em, baby)
Hawaiian top so fly I might skydive
I might throw a lightnin' rod cause I'm a god (cause I'm a god)
Strike you down in the street like a dog (wooh, dog)
Burn an incense (burn a incense)
Burnin' some Cadenzas first with German engines
Learn the bidness, new crib with one word: it's expensive
I might only furnish the place with bitches (yeah)
Know what I'm sayin'? She said, "I have sex wit’ ’em."
I said, "Where's ya husband?"
She said, "I don’t have no husband."
Ya know? I said, "Well, uh."
"But I wanna go wit' you."
So then the fellas in the van, they just kinda just, "Man, we, you can't take her back to Los Angeles wit' you, man. I said, "What ya do?"
She said, "I go to bed wit' men for money."
Ya know, I’m just a musician, I don't, I don't, [stuttering], as a blues singer
I don't know what she talkin' about, I'm green to all that
She said, "I wanna go to bed wit' ya. [Sampled Dialogue: Voice 1 and Voice 2]
"No, sit down, sit down. Hundred thousand. (uh)
I pull up and hit you in the mug, playa with the butt of the rusty banger (uh)
You must be feeling lucky you try and play us (uh)
I'm somethin' special, the dress who got extra layers (layers)
Hoes devil suits, expect for you to do sexual favors
This is level two, the pebbles got etched with my favorite bevel razor
I'm a vessel/vassal, mess with my paper, heifers'll pepper spray your retinas
All you seen was just redness (redness)
I watched from the TV set in the headrest in the cherry Lexus
This ain't a Tesla, but it's electric
Son, I finessed it like Stedman
Son, need some big Giuseppes, tryna step in
Uh, son, some big Giuseppes, tryna step in
[Outro: Roc Marciano]
Uh, that's a fact, it ain't known
I'm that nigga ain't no if's, and's, or
Might scoop your whore if she bad and just
Cop the new Lam or Wraith, I'm thinkin'
Uh, I'm thinking, yeah Never took a dime from the top
(This shit ain't about nothin' though)
And you seem to respect my, uh, my policy on drugs. They died!"
"Yeah, I've done that."
[Verse 2: Roc Marciano]
Uh, shots of RumHaven, son was sunbathin'
Fundraisin', we some gunslingers, niggas pump fakin'
You chumps hatin' from the jump baby
We can run the fade
And f*ck waitin'
I've been stayin' patient where the love's vacant
Facin' drug cases, nothin's sacred, we don't touch bacon (no)
Take your bucks, duct tape 'em, homo thugs, butt rape 'em (uh)
Lace the blunt with dust, butt naked, couple cuts from Jacob's (uh, Jacobs)
Got the summer shakin', bitches love gangstas, slug cases on the rugs
The walls is like blood paintin's, check the ring and wrist, you bum
This shit a flood, ain't it? Hundred thousand a month.
We ain’t got no room for her."