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letra de a ghetto poem - red music & ymi

[verse 1]
roses are red
violets are blue
crips bleed blood
and bloods do too
i’ll pull up if
you come through
i’ll jump off
if you do too
she loves me yes
i’ll say i do
she loves me not
babe f-ck you
in the end, we’ll find the proof
even in these lies there’s truth
the time for story time is over
make your wish then smoke the clover
the stars you see went supernova
fore these girls went fashion nova
they were held up in them rovers
i was held up in the dova
they thought that the storm p-ssed over
they must’ve forgot bout nola
since none of this matters
sh-t, i’ll take a platter
of all of your rappers
then empty my bladder
on top of the ladder
where all of them gather
then go pray to saturn
and repeat the pattern
baby girl, what’s your name
what’s your sign
what’s the frame of your mind
was the fame worth the crime

[chorus]
see through your ice
take my advice
men turn to mice
friends turn and fight
lies from the capital capitalize
on the fanatical who fantasize
about the fantasies, absent of tragedies
go tell your majesty, i don’t abide

[malcom x “by any means necessary” speech]

[bridge]
turn this sh-t to armageddon
this that sh-t that armes a wedding
this that sh-t that turn yo reverend
to a third convicted felon
b-tch i’m bad ain’t no telling
if i’m getting into heaven
but i’m prayed up like tibetans
and i’m sharper than gillette’n

[verse 2]
regretting, i reckon, the second you figure
that all of this sh-t ain’t so plentiful
was bettin’. was debtin’
was russian rouletten’ til homie got shot with the fentanyl
upsetting the settlers
peddling meddlers
stay on the regular
feeling irregular
out of your nebula
i’m not the messenger
f-ck the compet-tor
k!ll them molecular
oooooooh
this that sh-t
this that lick
this that brick
this that hit
with a stick
and a cl-t
mama i quit
no counterfeit
drama i quit
can’t count on clicks
no hypocrite
no hit or miss
b-tch this
big krit
with triple six

[outro]
turn this sh-t to armageddon
this that sh-t that armes a wedding
this that sh-t that turn yo reverend
to a third convicted felon
b-tch i’m bad ain’t no telling
if i’m getting into heaven
but i’m prayed up like tibetans
and i’m sharper than gillette’n

- red music ymi

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