Final Four Lyrics
[Intro: Flee Lord]
Nah, nah, for real, man, there was like twelve years of my life that all I listened to was Infamous, Mobb Deep and DJ Premier
Lord, my soldier on the front line
f*ck a punchline, it only take one time to play about mine
I mean, you could argue I'm a product of both
It only take one time to play about- (Lord love)
[Verse 1: Flee Lord & Roc Marciano]
Yeah, we 'bout to go deep, huh, then Deep Cover
Multiply the team while keeping the streets smothered (Brrrd)
f*ck what you heard, f*ck what you saying
Nigga, I don't hear nothing unless it's about a payment (Woo)
Nick Harringbone and a ring full of diamonds
Plus the joint of somе girl that came from a co-signment (What?)
I got a trap in the back and onе in the middle (One in the middle)
If it ain't about a dime then they can slide for a nickle (Let's get 'em)
We the task force shakers getting cash off wavers
Only time you seeing me is when I pass off paper (When I, off, woo)
White stretching, lounge you with the killers running life lessons
Wife stressing, praying to god that no shots wet 'em (Brr)
Cold locker by the lake, big chopper 'bout a face
Watch the sunset slowly, no more watching out for Jakes (No)
I said I watch the sun, no more watching out for Jakes (Uh)
[Verse 2: Roc Marciano]
Runaway slaves with black feet
Patek filipes, the sneaks is a rack a piece
Sheesh (Sheesh), the Jag seats smell like hash seats
Only people that had ease is rappers and athletes
Drug traffickers, fashion, and looks
My fabric you can't touch, my jackets had the sluts
Now camel clutch, uh (What?)
Pearl handle on the handgun (Handgun), you hold the hammer like an amateur (Woo)
Before Grandma's cuts, sampling chunk
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We ain't tamper with nothing so you could dance on the stuff (Dance, I said)
Shitting on a nay-sayer (Nay-sayer)
Player hater playing taste-maker with basic flavor (Pff)
Frontin' like you got sophisticated tastebuds
You know it ain't safe for son if I taste blood (Blood, uh)
My youngin play with dust smokin' laced Bud
Cocaine, take a bump and then spray you up
[Verse 3: Conway the Machine & Roc Marciano]
The Balenciaga, Rocka, Dior, wearer (Ayy, sit down, the f*ck?)
2022, two-door Porsche steerer (Vroom)
Yeah, the illest of all eras, the nigga they all scared of
I sent 'em with Paul Berries (Ah), it's all a matter of time
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