Pimps Don't Wear Rabbits Lyrics

[Intro: Sample + Roc Marciano]
"A'ight, you be careful now
Is that rabbit?
Pimps don't wear rabbit, ho, you know this is real mink right here. Yeah, baby, you wanna feel it? You wanna feel it, huh?" (Uh)
"Alright, baby, you be careful out here. Pimp don't wear nothing fake—real pimps though."
(Yo)

[Verse 1]
You ain't got pop a ecstasy pill
To feel the sex appeal
The legacy was built on this very hill
You couldn't have put it on stills, it'd tilt
And if you killed, pimp juice spilled
My wounds ain't healed
I got bruises still, this is therapeutic help
Always gotta ride with a pistol
Niggas got issues with mental health
MCs hating us, need to hang it up
We all got our hang-ups
But bitch you better not hang my stuff on the wire hanger
My diamond chain is a climate changеr
I'm playing with weather
I got the HAARP machinе in my dresser, I made it winter
I made the tectonic plate shift
Break your dishes, shake the kitchen
Shit was like a 8 on the Richter, maybe bigger
Wake up the baby and the baby-sitter
You could still feel the tremors, pillars trembling
I did all this in the gym dribbling
It wasn't deliberate
I just walked on water, you're all witness

[Chorus: Sample + Roc Marciano]
"A'ight, you be careful now"
I'll be here (Yeah, yeah), to dry your tears (I just walked on water, you all, yo)
(Uh) You ain't got to cry, my dear (Yeah)
(Don't cry, baby)
(Yo) You hidin' out there, when we find out where (Where you niggas at?)
(Yeah—yo)
We gonna hit that, yeah

[Verse 2]
Whippin' white, twist the Swiss knife in your kid's rib side
Give you wings, you can kiss the sky
Everyone on the ship died and got caught in the riptide
Your body drift down the riverside
My niggas will grab the stick and slide
Down the strip like a Slip 'N Slide
Platinum rollie on the fist, we on a different time
From my end, peel your wig, like a clementine
Five big cuban links on the kid intertwined, I'm in a bind
Diamond bracelets, we not slaves, my wrists are tight
Like we inside, this is flyness exemplified
Niggas is pie, you won't squish a fly
I'm not a french fry on the lunch line
I watch the fiends smoke a dime out the can of Country Time
Every rhyme I write is butter but we're not talking Country Crock
The product came from a Colombian guy
The money's washed

[Chorus: Sample + Roc Marciano]
I'll be here, to dry your tears
You ain't got to cry, my dear
"A'ight, you be careful now"
You hidin' out there, when we find out where
We gonna hit that, yeah

[Outro]
Baby
Yeah

24885e21884c8b3ee6308e94eab4db75