
dead flowers - boldy james & antt beatz lyrics
[intro]
(what up, antt?)
(beat gang)
where we at?
[verse 1]
burning high*grade, finna drop a five in the limeade
taj paid, walkin’ out with pints at the rite*aid
baby so cold, she can’t wait to let me slay her
let me f*ck for free, but the head so good i wanna pay her
know i’m havin’ [?] but leave a message at the dial tone
richest street n*gga that she ever laid her brows on
trillest n*gga out the drug zone, put on for the ghetto
fifteen*hundred*dollar dunks on, stompin’ foreign pedals
burberry on my collar with the light print
feds know a n*gga got a linе on them ice chips
hundred thou’ on all slips n*ggas know wе touchin’
switches on all of the sticks we be cobra*clutchin’
pipe downs for the snakes, i had to mow the yard
any n*gga take a hit on blocks, he gotta overcharge
i owe you, it’s only us, i’m really from the warren
them n*ggas know with us, this sh*t come with a thunderstorm
[chorus]
make it rain on your head, we givin’ lead showers
left him in the lane field under dead flowers
to all my n*ggas comin’ home on the furlough
it’s 227 ’til the motherf*ckin’ world blow
same n*ggas, only worse, mega*popular
worldwide mob figures, we the mafia
the same n*ggas, only worse, mega*popular
227 mafia, what else? let’s get it
[verse 2]
they pillow*talk more than these hoes, they some gossipers
long live my og rock off of rossiter
gang know i kept it truer than a full snickin’
still passin’ testers out at the soup kitchen
i got n*ggas out in [?], k!llers in the zigs
with fully outs, pop up on a n*gga like a quiz
welcome home [lo diddy?], long live eric
pinky ring, seen the cut stones ten carats
everybody thugs ’til the judge set bail
and they wakin’ up handcuffed to a bed rail
still foldin’ lotto packs and them twelve*twelves
off*white same color as an egg sh*ll
free [?] tarantino from that fed cell
had a long run, turnt your city to a trail mix
slow motion, wearin’ bass upon that handheld
got some blow stronger than them cases that the feds build
[chorus]
make it rain on your head, we givin’ lead showers
left him in the lane field under dead flowers
to all my n*ggas comin’ home on the furlough
it’s 227 ’til the motherf*ckin’ world blow
same n*ggas, only worse, mega*popular
worldwide mob figures, we the mafia
the same n*ggas, only worse, mega*popular
227 mafia, what else? let’s get it
[outro]
left him in the [?] field under dead flowers
let’s get it
(beat gang)
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