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letra de newport music - retch

[production by leken taylor]

[intro]
yeah
you have now tuned into the lavender love section
newports and bad b-tches, cold drinks and chicken wings
watermelon seeds and b-tches with no weaves
before i go in, let me roll up my sleeves
yeah
donald love, baby

[verse 1: sha hef]
true!
back on the block, no crack in my sock, just dope and my god
and your b-tch in my car, she back on my d-ck, she know who we are
so come float with a star, a consolation
i’m the sh-t, no constipation
back to the crib for some consommation
pluck her then f-ck her, no conversation
i’m just saying, ain’t no debating my greatness, these n-ggas is basic
and i’m wasted, writing this rap and cap in the back of a sp-ceship
just face it
pour a little out for the ones that never made it
and shout out to the hoes that i f-cked, but never dated
even in hd, i look h-lla faded
feeling h-lla jaded, og got me feeling elevated
got me all sedated, n-gga wants to fight cause his b-tch got me on her playlist
we ain’t gotta say sh-t
we come back to the trap with the straps and my n-ggas just spray sh-t
got 50 xan’s in that party pack
feeling like i had a heart attack
i got 50 b-tches wanting autographs
i got 50 blunts, i’m smoking all of that
that’s all i know: good weed, s-x, money, and hoes
hit the booth and i spit plenty of flows
check my rap sheet, i flip plenty of o’s
oh!

[hook: retch] (x2)
i’m what you get when you mix coca and a triple beam
if it ain’t the feds, i’m falling victim to this nicotine
selling drugs, doing drugs
busting s-xies in the club
like motherf-ck this rap sh-t
i grew up in that trap, b-tch

[verse 2: da$h]
deep inhales, drunk texting a couple hoes
replies come by the time i exhale, saying it’s a go
sh-t, fa sho, after i drop these flows, i’ll probably call you
enjoyed the p-ssy but love my money, f-ck what you thought, boo
got use to getting use to timezone changes
joe namath, jet planing
for the green, you ain’t paying, you ain’t sh-t
what i’m claiming? h’s clique
don’t make dollars, ain’t no sense
if your b-tch know me, suck my d-ck, i’m coming up, she think i’m rich
way i’m living got my peers with a certain hate
get acquainted with your maker, ever try to touch my plate
borderline immortals, b-tch from haiti smoking in my place
told her roll her own, cause the gods only chief to the face
putting you on game, g-coded, lames don’t understand it
got faded and made my lane just like i f-cking planned it
manic expression, getting high keep me out of depression
teaching every time i speak and see money the lesson

[hook]

[verse 3: retch]
minute maid in that cognac, two days in that same lo
n-ggas ask where the hoes at, i just act like i ain’t know
n-gga, we from the same hood, all f-ck with them same hoes
his b-tch f-ck her man, we all know how that dame goes
came up on park street, swear a young n-gga slang o’s
champ hoodie and it cover my face, n-gga just out trying to stay low
but the feds on my -ss, while they har-ss, every time i see them, i be hoping they crash
ejected from the seat and fly through the gl-ss, his kids have to watch as they go under gr-ss
six feet, dig deep, we laugh, his b-tch weep
r-i-p to that pipsqueak, hang a f-cking cop by his pig feet
f-ck jail, i ain’t going back cause i’m too fly, think orange whack
i got mad hoes, i love blowing thrax and i’m in the room, i got the loudest pack
and i really can’t let none of that go
black and from the hood with some foreign -ss hoes
so i’m all up in the rearview when i’m peeping for the motherf-cking peoples
n-gga, i ain’t trynna see ’em like

[hook]

- retch

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