Chuck Paradi$e - Rollin Wit Marauders

Pocket rocket
In the pocket
Of my Levis (Ahh)
Smoke til I get tree high (Ahh)
I dont fuck wit C I's (Noo)
Rollin wit some Haitians
Put in stain with a few miras (He did)
Homie had the bundle
In his bubble coat, Fila (Facts)
Drinkin two eleven we was sippin Uncle Pauly
Mixin up the lean got me feelin double saucy (Swoosh)
Walkin thru the party with some laced up chucks
We aint come to play or get the place turnt up (Huh)
I came for the bag
Bend the show and then I leave
Watch me ball til I drop
Turn the night to New Year Eve (What else)
U can catch me in the lead
Its written on the sleeve
Dot my I's cross my T's
Clean kill Listerine (Boom)
If only was my dreams
Came truer than my nightmares
Snakes Rats And Demons
How the fuck I'm gone Fight fair (How the fuck)
Shit it took me bout a month to do took you a lightyear (Haaa)
Kill ya self come back to life
Then I might care (Bitch)

Rollin wit marauders
Slippin 22s (True)
Rollin up the gangja
Sippin Jungle Juice (No gas)
Countin up the profit
Split up with the crew (Yea)
Get back to this work bitch
Finish all ya food (Yeah yeah yeah yeah)
Ugh
Dont be hardheaded
Dont be hardheaded (Yea)
Dont be hardheaded
Dont be hard (Yeah yeah yeah yeah)
Rollin wit marauders
Slippin 22s
Get back to this work bitch
Finish all ya food
Ugh

22s (True)
Jungle Juice (No gas)
Profit
Crew (Yeah)
Work bitch
Food
Ugh

Written by:
Tim Benifield

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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