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lirik lagu death balled – greg grease

[verse 1]
little homie didn’t know what he got into
take a poll, livin’ life like us men do
in the caddy, getting cut like a [?]
getting savage on a planet in a mental
sinful – he get it how he lives like his friends do
never slippin’ on point like a pencil
these minstrel n-ggas ain’t official
got the white, green, brown, and the crystal
g’d up, finna feed up (g’d up)
hit the lake stack chips for the re-up
seekin’ a mini cali prius
low key like a og
pleases overseas lappin’ on beach eating cream puffs
bad b-tch, heart cold as frieza
homeboy on his green like a ceasar
making fiends do the shake like a seizure
two cellphones and a beeper beepin’
dope o’s by the boatload
five-o in the whip takin’ photos
two thirty shot clips in the volvo
got a baby blue pit named coco
they raised the same, they blamed the case on god with the trouble on his face
it got wild, put the tray down before his waist and brake the plate

[pre-hook]
these demons, demons, creepin’ and sneakin’, they leave leakin’ not breathin’
you thought you was a true g but anyone can be beaten
these kids is so cold
it’s unbelievable
but they lead the door
who’s gonna save they souls?

[hook]
this life is never gon change as long as there’s cash made to be spent
cash for the hash, cash for the c0ke, cash for the politician and pen
we all getting played like a banjo
death ballad to the tone of a sad note
the song goes on and on till the day that you dead, repeat in the back of your head

[bridge]
we rapidly dying and fillin’ cages with lions
the king of the man is so major is rated with flavor

[verse 2]
death staring me in the face in the form of three-eight
whether it be the strap of the free-b-ss, clapped in the back layin’ flat cause’ i need cake
young boy feelin’ like a grown man but still like a worker in the mills, super circus k!ll
if you in the field, buried in a mostile
gone off and opened pills, gets too real
scrillin’ if you wanna keep breathin’, man
let me cease chase, i’ma come be flames
young boys movin’ fast, turning in the speedin’ lane
burning just to ease the pain of the game, livin’ day to day
movin’ hate for pay, when them haters chase, n-ggas slang your things, pick your face for j’s
and my state of a youth in a scr-pe today, just sprayed a k, and leave you laid to waste
cold k!llers but it’s not the case
scared kids with a lot to gain
earning wage with that pile of ‘caine
go high, spinnin’ like a ceiling fan
livin’ so profane, to drain the strain, tryna maintain
coppers don’t play, who’s it gonna be?
you and me, i know one thing: i ain’t tryna die today

[hook]
this life is never gonna change as long as there’s cash made to be spent
cash for the hash, cash for the c0ke, cash for the politician and pen
we all getting played like a banjo
death ballad to the tone of a sad note
the song goes on and on till the day that you dead, repeat in the back of your head

[outro]
we rapidly dying and fillin’ cages with lions
the king of the man is so major is rated with flavor

- greg grease

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