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Track: Street Magic
Artist: Roc Marciano
Album: The Skeleton Key

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Name: Roc Marciano
Spotify Genres: boom bap, underground hip hop, east coast hip hop
Followers: 181,985
Popularity:

52/100

Biography

Roc Marciano (a.k.a. Roc Marci, a.k.a. Rock Marciano) is a rapper and hip-hop producer from New York, USA. He was born February 11, 1978.

Source: Discogs

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Discogs Release Info

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Release: Roc Marciano And The Alchemist* - The Skeleton Key
Year: 2025
Genres: Hip Hop

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Source: MusicBrainz

LYRICS

Can't be late for the show
You should know, for sure
Gotta get the dough
Tell your friend to go
Oh, you should know
Everything we make is cold (Uh)
Can't be late for the show (Uh)
No
Use the fentanyl, cut the blow

Yo, death-defyin' acts
Throw a line at you like a flying axe
Those some fire raps
It's no wonder why I'm detached
Numbers-wise, the budget was high like we paddin' stats (The one who cooked)
With Al makin' magic Jack, we some lab rats
The rap pack, true that, cool cat
But I will come boom your ass off the map (Woo)
Who but you could pull your ass up out the grass by the bootstraps
But still look new off the rack?
Don't let these folks gas you, they casuals (Casuals)
You nicer than Marci? That shit laughable (Ha-ha-ha)
Two racks for the tracksuit
Exotic like dragonfruit, draggin' you (Draggin' you)
Like a mink when it hit the back of the shoe (Uh)
Your jacket's as sharp as a jackal's tooth (Uh)
I'm like a wild animal on the loose (Woo)
I'm a wolf, I'm aloof ('Loof)
I'm not cool, despite what you might have assumed
I'm rude (I'm rude, boy)
Uh, Rolls-Royce sped off
At this point, I'm beatin' a dead horse
The whore's weave fell off (Mm)
Your head falls on the floor like spaghetti sauce (Woo)
Shells hit your core like a wreckin' ball
Everything on the walls and the dressin' floor
Your whole floor dissolved to a big quart of Epsom salt
This is all just for sport, I was meant to ball
Check the score

Can't be late for the show (That shit we on, nigga)
You should know, for sure (You see it, nigga, check the score)
Gotta get the dough (Yeah)
Tell your friend to go (Yeah)
Oh, you should know
Everything we make is cold
Can't be late for the show
No
Use the fentanyl, cut the blow

Paid for decent clothes
Man, they say you reap what you sow
The locs a few G's, but to each his own
The hatin' be stinkin' like cheap cologne
It reeks broke
Seepin' in your coat like reefer smoke
Folks scream, "He the GOAT, he cold"
But I don't need my ego stroked
People, this ain't no kinky peep show
Even though this is the most freaky flow (Nasty)
But I ain't freaky, yo (Not at all, woo)
Fake tastemakers tasteless (Ptuh)
That shit you praisin' ain't this (That ain't this)
Your favorite the flavorless (Uh)
I'm on the most-hated list (Uh)
Your lady friend got my name on her lips
Cocaine sniff, soft as an angel's kiss
Entanglements like Jada Pinkett Smith (Uh)
The rich Cartier bangler wrist
This the fatal hit
Yayo missed, gave her the nasal drip
Scraped it off the dish

Real shit
Marci
100 block
Alchemist
Pimpstead
Pimpire
Killers for hire