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letra de dead flowers - boldy james & antt beatz

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[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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