Roc Marciano – Respected Lyrics | New Today Lyrics

[Intro: Sample + Roc Marciano]“I want to be highly respected, amongst everyone. Dudes from New York, dudes outside of New York—highly Respected. “
Check the motherf*ckin’ record, nigga, I invented swag, nigg-a
Uh, uh-huh
They back (Uh), yeah, I promise you (Uh)
(Wooooooooh!) Yeah, uh
We ain’t playin’ with you (Marc’, baby)
Lemme lock shit, boy
f*ck you mean, boy? (Yeah)
(We back)
Uh (Come on)

[Verse 1: Rock Marciano]Uh—fox-fur on my evening coat
I gave these heathens hope (Gave em’ hope)
Uh, peep my garage, three sixes, yeah, that’s the demon code
Be it so, I’m not evil though (Haha) (Wooooh!), uh
Nigga’s emo, (Ah!) this the cheat code, don’t get your
Cheek blown—your body don’t possess not one street bone (Not one!)
Bone to pick with who? You meat (Meat), T-bone
My dingoes eat you whole, you should find work at Home Depot (Mmmm! Get a job)
We own the streets don’t mean to hurt your ego, shit is big
My nig’, these cigs get lit with burned C-notes (Wow)
Peep the steelo (Peep)
Peep the scene mo’; moskinos, limosines, and speedboats (*Revs*)
Get your meatloaf smoked, your paper low
My section look like Kinkos, Pringles, keep the thing close
Like a Speedo, I’m not playing with these negros (Negros)

Keep it P, though—word to my heated comb, a gift from Ceelo (Pimpin’)
Ya’ll grew up in houses—we grew up in housin’
Now my outfit’s worth a couple thousand bucks, so f*ck the browsin’
Money-counters on the counters, Thom Browne trousers to tuck
The Brownin’ with diamonds, bust your Rollie down, it’s crowded (Wooh!) (Wow)
Uh, do the math, duke; ain’t nothing free (Nothin’ free)
You can’t f*ck with me, the Lamborghini truck got bucket seats (Uh!)
What’s beef? When they up defeat and touch ya muscle-tee (Wooh!)
Uh, your cuddy just wasn’t my cup of tea—Marc’[Outro]Uh (We ain’t playin’ with ’em)
We ain’t playin’ with ’em
(We ain’t playin’ with ’em) Definitely not
(Uh) Yeah, boy, straight like that—nigga
(You cannot f*ck with me) Pimp stand in the motherf*ckin’ buildin’, boy, Long Island, stand the f*ck up
(On no f*ckin’ level) You already know, nigga, don’t get your motherf*ckin’ shit smoked
Don’t get too close, or you might get shot, shit
Bum-ass niggas
You already know, nigga
Numero uno, boy—jefe
Marcielago
Huh? Es cargo