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letra de oh lord - marion write

[verse 1: marion write]
momma told me leave it all behind
keep your eyes on the road and leave your focus on the ride
she tell a young’n all the time
but i’m a rebel, i don’t listen, i’m a motherf-ckin’ slime
fine b-tches in my dm
but i don’t really read ’em
i just tell ’em carpe diem
keep it pushing in ya’ bm
i ain’t thirsty for a f-ck
but if ya’ mind straight
i might let you get a front
money on my mind like i got it all the time
sometimes you gotta move like a target on your spine
jfk, they’ll leave you slumped in a convertible
your followers will follow you and plot a scheme to murder you
-ss-ssinate your character, test you at your will
they’ll imitate your moves, tell you great artists steal
basquiat, banksy, dali with the paintbrush
but i don’t care much i got knowledge that they can’t touch
seamless in life, i get it with no effort
mastermind mooch, the noriega of the desert
gambino of the west, new asiatic terror
haters still respect me, can’t say it no clearer
oh, lord!

[chorus: marion write]
on my own wave now
nothin’ left to break down
put it all in god’s hands
all u can do is pray now
all u do is pray now
oh lord tell em oh lord (uh-oh)
oh lord tell em oh lord (uh-oh)
oh lord tell em oh lord (uh-oh)
your witnessing the second coming
you got none’ to show for
oh lord

verse 2:
oh lord tell em oh lord
seats down in gucci row running like it’s full court
pressin’ all these b-tches thirst trappin’ thru the phone lord
help her she don’t really know, she don’t really know
f-ck it you know that i’m headed straight up to the top floor
leaving all my demons toasting drinks up in the concourse
clutch with the gas, game over, breaking bread lord
jordan over ehlo, like i’m breaking in my bred 4’s, oh lord
compet-tion is meek, the weak will never prosper
crabs in a bucket with desires of a lobster
unoriginal thieves asking for due and proper
before you can be king, you might lose a father
mufasa, paid dues for young simba
ghetto child, like chad muska and malt liquor
sardines for dinner, born sinner
two commas, six zeros, ’til the family all richer
oh lord!

[snippet: martin scorsese]
you don’t make up for your sins in church
you do it in the streets

[outro]

- marion write

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