[Intro: DJ Clue & Memphis Bleek]
Word up (Uh)

[Verse 1: Memphis Bleek]
I've become accustomed to goin' through customs
Pound in my pocket hollerin', "Fuck them" (What?)
I'm livin' that life that you only talk about
I'm fuckin' them hoes that you only thought about
I spend that money, but you won't spend about
As much that I made off my last single out
What you think of that? N***as, y'all know
That I kill n***as slow and I live for this dough (Holla)
Got labels sick, I know they hate that
I'm makin' they artists push them dates back (C'mon)
I don't need tattoos to prove I pack tools
Go 'head and act fool and become dog food
Memph-Man, uh-huh, yeah, that's me
Same n***a that don't give a— basically
And I'm still smokin, it be like that
Ya blunt went out, n***a, re-light that

[Chorus: Memphis Bleek]
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y
BK style, see Bleek, how?
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y
BK style, see Geda how?
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y
BK style, see Bleek, how?
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y
BK style, see Geda how?
[Verse 2: Geda K & DJ Clue]
I'm finally put in the game, right where I should be
And the gat lay right where it should be (Ha-ha)
Violate, you be put where you should be
Have your family and friends screamin', "How could he?"
Walk the streets with a body on his back
Ride around in a V with the shotty in the back (Uh-huh)
And for y'all that swear that I front for rep
Only thing that I front is Os of coke and clips of Tef'
With a co-D that's a menace to the people
Yeah, we sold D and made a livin' off of people (Yeah)
Ghetto corrupted us and we taught ourselves
How to add and scale plus bag and sell
And how to aim and shoot
And I got brain when the wrist locked
Wherever the dot spot leave the tape
You keep actin' like you can't die in a blaze
And I let sixteen of 'em dive in your wake

[Chorus: Memphis Bleek & DJ Clue]
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y
BK style, see Bleek, how? (New shit, Memphis Bleek)
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y
BK style, see Geda how? (Geda)
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y (Marcy)
BK style, see Bleek, how? (Fat shout Carter Faculty)
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y (Tata)
BK style, see Geda how? (B-High)
[Verse 3: Memphis Bleek & DJ Clue]
Picture me rollin' in that five hundred Benz
I got no love for you n***as it ain't no need to be friends (Clue)
I give a fuck 'bout 'em, no need to talk 'bout 'em
He act 'bout it, I let the fo'-fo' pound 'em
The co-Ds, n***a, no statements
Just shots, empty shell casings
No prints, Vs no tint
Phone, Sprint, six, no chips, n***a
R-O, yeah, M-A
Realest hood and clique n***a, comprende?
You bitch n***as know I'm focused, right?
You still catch M-E-M locin' right? (Ha-ha)
In the black V, with the gat on my lap
Shovel in the trunk, go 'head n***a, front
This M dot E-M-P-H-I-S Bleek
Coppin' out to a one to three, you bitch n***a

[Chorus: Memphis Bleek & DJ Clue]
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y
BK style, see Bleek, how? (Fat shout)
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y (Cuttino Mobley)
BK style, see Geda how? (Steve Francis, Houston Rockets)
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y (My n***a Chris Childs)
BK style, see Bleek, how? (LaVar Postell)
I'm from M-A-R-C-Y (New York Knicks)
BK style, see Geda how? (Word Up)
[Outro: DJ Clue]
DJ Clue, Desert Storm
Roc-A-Fella
The Professional part two
Ha-ha