
dead boys on my playlist - trenchbaby 67 lyrics
[intro]
(wheezy outta here)
yeah, yeah, yeah
dead opps, dead boys
haha, trench—trench!
uh, look, ayy (grrah, grrah)
(blrrt!)
[chorus]
dead boys on my playlist, b*tch, i’m vibin’ to they tombstone (tombstone)
she keep askin’ if i’m heartless — b*tch, i been dead inside too long (f*ck it)
hundred shots inside this audi, i can’t ride unless that tool on (boom!)
tell that ho don’t play me close, she might get smoked, i move too cold (facts)
p*ssy boy got hit for trollin’, now his name sit in my shuffle (stupid!)
i don’t talk to god no more, my glock got answers when there’s trouble (brrt, brrt)
f*ck a label, f*ck your budget, i make millions off this struggle (on gang)
ain’t no love, we grew with pain, i hug that stick just like a brother (huh!)
[verse 1]
f*ck that peace talk, b*tch, i walk with demons in the rain (slime)
pour that drank inside a chalice, toast to murder, not champagne (blrrt!)
i know shooters who got aim, but still gon’ pop just off the shame (boom)
blew his t**th across the paint, now his mama cry my name (hah)
told that b*tch, “don’t do no cryin’ when i ghost you like my dead ones”
i’m too numb to feel regret, i keep a tech, i ain’t no stepson (f*ck ’em)
he was dissin’ for attention, now his face inside my ringtone
say my name too loud, get stretched out like a futon (blah!)
blood on balenciaga, i just mop it with a tee (facts)
still that same young savage, but my diamonds speak elite (ice)
f*ck your block, i spin on feet, then switch to srt (skrrt!)
dead boys on repeat, i turn up pain into a beat (yeah, yeah)
[chorus]
dead boys on my playlist, b*tch, i’m vibin’ to they tombstone
she keep askin’ if i’m heartless — b*tch, i been dead inside too long (huh)
hundred shots inside this audi, i can’t ride unless that tool on (boom*boom!)
tell that ho don’t play me close, she might get smoked, i move too cold (too cold)
p*ssy boy got hit for trollin’, now his name sit in my shuffle
i don’t talk to god no more, my glock got answers when there’s trouble
f*ck a label, f*ck your budget, i make millions off this struggle (b*tch)
ain’t no love, we grew with pain, i hug that stick just like a brother (grrah!)
[verse 2]
all my nightmares come with soundtracks — drums, screams, and choppers ring (baow)
b*tch, i died inside at 8, now my heart just let it sing (let it sing)
lost my soul to dirty work, but i still slide with cuban links (flex)
hope you prayin’ for your homie, ’cause we laughin’ when he blinks (haha)
used to sleep inside that bas*m*nt, now this crib too big for guests (facts)
told my dawg, “don’t talk ’bout pain unless you stepped with death on deck”
b*tch, my ap full of ghosts, this rollie tick like loaded tecs (boom*boom!)
i ain’t ran from no regrets, i just ran into bigger checks (woo!)
she a eater, not no keeper, i treat love like stolen dope (skrrt)
said she miss the old me, baby, he beneath the floor (ha!)
all my opps got playlists, too — they stream us from the morgue (d*mn)
they get buried, then get charted, we sell trauma like it’s war (yeah)
[chorus / outro]
dead boys on my playlist, b*tch, i’m vibin’ to they tombstone (boom*boom)
she keep askin’ if i’m heartless — b*tch, i been dead inside too long (too long)
hundred shots inside this audi, i can’t ride unless that tool on (blrrt)
tell that ho don’t play me close, she might get smoked, i move too cold (too cold, yeah)
(dead boys…)
(dead boys…)
they still talk to me in dreams
trenchbaby, b*tch
(wheezy outta here…)
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