letra de reap the plate - jayy grams
. .
bacardi sippin’ with remy drippin’ in plenty [?]
a artist’s mission should be the difference you wish you known us
but sh-t i’m grown up, grip the spliff like a sticky donut
i’m hittin’ home up, to get my mother out that f-cking wh0rehouse
tracks can pull your soul out, black men we forever still address it like i stole the blouse
ain’t have to take the gory route, cause, seen homies down that road
all them n-ggas in six feet but they ain’t lookin’ for gold
i’m tryna tell you take a picture, memorize your [?]
‘fore you rockin’ price tags in a prada ghetto
but even mates can get ya, they symbolize your bros
but that’s jsut part of the illusion now, can catch me cruisin’ down baltimore
with all of the carnivores
. .
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