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letra de gold bbs ll - kiamo

gold bbs ll lyrics
808’s, watch this levitate
open satin gates, spit his face
half dominican, abuelo owning, coming to the states
by bodegas stores, they hustle hard, you know it’s getting late
youngin drop the ball, he selling ball, now murder be the case………

(verse 1)
and they said, i need advice, i need to chill, i need to breathe
grandma drag up to church, she pray to god, she on her knees
hennessy, help memories, all the emotions, need to leave
never lived the life you lived, but they gonna tell you how it be………
and you talking come up, but stay alive that was mission
and you only trained to hustle, cause you got no pot to p-ss in
what you know about cross paths, cutting homies snitching
uncle sipping on that syrup, keep him calm, cause he be tripping………
daddy home, he hate job, but he keeping food up on the table
see they wanna know the story, so i had to find a way yo
and in they found in the hood, smoking chronic, bumping dre though
and they say i’m hard headed like i’m daddy, in a way though ……..
writing story, thinking corey, all i think about it’s death
teenager selling drugs, seen them shoutouts by the steps
baby sister traumatize, and them times she can’t forget
you know them friends is changing, when they smoking on that wet………

(hook)
want a chain, just to change, smoking mary jane
smoke out, table turn & turned to eddie kane
when they not, where they want to be, you the one they blame
and i’m hot, dancing with the devil, feeling on her flames
(gold bbs)
(bridge)
rose gold, gold gold bbs
rose gold, gold gold bbs
rose gold, gold gold bbs
rose gold, gold gold bbs
rose gold, gold gold bbs

(verse 2)
mercedes driving by, windows tinted, with guns with out
if you say you down to ride, ain’t no trey, you better jump out
dead body, in the casket, cemetery like a dug out
stray bullet hit her baby, now the momma finna bug out………
in the church, they yelling god, do he really hear the answer
little boy i really i watched growing up, he really died cancer……..
swear to god, i’m dropping tears, for all my people that i ain’t here
reminisce, composition, write my way up out here…………
ain’t no hope, we on hope
drop the ball, he selling dope
by the border, off the boat
know language, they don’t know
quit the game, he hate the coach
love the pray, but hate the pope
on the edge, stay a float
stay alive & stay awoke

- kiamo

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