Wolfing Down (Mixed)

[Verse: Roc Marciano]

Yeah, uh

My Haitian niggas'll chop your shit

My lady chocolate, thick, she like Taral Hicks

The seats in the six resemble trail mix

The torch is in the pail like a welder's kit

The hitter sent the whip in a tailspin

The tires made the V-12 skid

I'm a big kid, I feel like I'm twelve again

The crib come with Benson and Mr. Belvedere

I'm cooking 'caine in the kitchen, we selling hella squares

I might sell my Roc-A-Fella sharеs and take my bands elsewhеre

The pinky ring a mere twelve grand (It's nothing)

I had a thing for Pam Grier (Yeah)

Wood paneling on the Wagoneer, the stairway cashmere

Exotic cat hair, don't let my jacket scratch your hand

I had my mans tap-dance on the grams

Break the brick in half, Jackie Chan, shit was khaki tan

I had twenty racks in my Balen' track pants

A small cash advance to hit some blue magic, you see the package stamp

Crack the Dutch Master to wrap the plants

Scrap your plans, I'm back to El Capitan

Been to hell and back, I'm just a black man

Land but run half a man

The Taliban brand, but not from Pakistan

What's crackin' fam?

My bitch pulled up with the ratchet on her lap and said