Roc Marciano - Marksmen lyrics

[intro - interview ?origin?] (transcript:) <(..) is, uh, the sk**s. - Yes, he has the sk**s... - the dexterity to play ! - right, which he earned as a musician that went through the streets (hmhm) Wherever you wanna go .. to get his ability to, uh, .. you know, in a nutshell, the .. what I'm talkin' about is that he's a man that said .. [he] didn't ask the question "How do I get over?"; "How do I get better" - an' better - is what he said. And better, and better, and better. And that's the school I came from.> [soulful sample plays to some background talkin] [Verse 1: Ka] To our production, much destruction for our appetite With steel fist, if meal missed wasn't for lack of might We been bingin, we purgin dividends with snub nose My bud's rose, my service citizens Cain and Abel, my rappin' plight, wrote on same table they packaged white Ain't wrapped this tight if catching stripe and ain't actin trife Vowed the Lord, crows to applaud and fake clap at night Drew Tecs, when others was too s**ed, hermaphrodite Tho a bowl full of rodents, you notice no rat in sight Tried to go hard at school, stayed for the best cla**es Just wasn't the sharpest tool, paid for my trespa**es A modest student got saluted when I met masters Thinking of fam, blinking here, you feel d**h's lashes A man with standard flaws, show 'im what the damage caused No Christmas wishlists, all I got was Santa's claws When I lost members my friends would say my fam' is yours Ka move fly j**els though I may never land rewards You either cookin or chookin', that's how a crook fathom Cousin said the judge judged, soon as he looked at him While he plea, could hardly read - still threw the book at him A true verse, but too terse - I hope the hook grab 'em I hope my hook grab 'em [Verse 2: Roc Marciano] Yeah, played the oven while young'ns played the dozens My stick came with a drum but I don't play percussion Not to toot my own trumpet, let the Kal-Tec off in couplets They thought I was on some Questlove sh** If I pull a few strings, they have their bulletproof deranged Every note that they play I arrange I'm like Barry White, never carry light Me and the gauge we like soulmates but I'm not the marrying type Bring your best hand weapons, let's have a jam session Just for the metal hands, you left a couple band members (man down) Push keys no piano lessons (nah) ambidextrous Two hammers do duets and Willie Manchesters You hit the notes flat, my whistle blow and make the crystal crack My gat [inaudible, reversed?] - chew crippled cats Twist you back, they gon' have to give you a tissue rash I guess that's what happens when cymbals clash