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letra de tampa - zhalarina

verse one
i come from that flirty dirty/
that scurry dirty where the curry’s purty/
eatin’ hotdogs in the church parkin lot/
my daddy truck fill up three parking spots/
better come off that eggs and ham/
that turkey bacon on a lemon square/
that futuristic, county fair/
school girl flippin’ burnt hair/
simple like a new day/
or a 2-fade when the crew’s paid/
and everybody looking on a tuesday/
for a girl name diji who do braids/
we got fold-out chairs in the back seat/
cause i’m headed to my sister track meet/
red lobster biscuits and apple sauce/
got bologna burnin on a gas stove/

hook
i been at the center of/
a city full of heat/
you can tеll them babies laughing/
by the way thеy show they t–th/
now if you looking for a party/
just head out to the street /
right round tampa/
and if you catch me lookin decent/
riding cleaner than a mug/
my daddy got sent away/
so the hood just showing me love/
grandpa gave me his chain/
cause gold is bout thick as blood/
down in tampa/

verse two
too much fight in a crack dog/
too much night in a black doll/
and when girls look like black dolls/
they drip attitude and mac sauce/
got welfare for the well’s fair/
disrespecting your ivy league/
come home for a holiday/
what’s college degree to these collard greens?/
we georgia peach, new york giant/
with havana, cuba on the nightstand/
ybor city, casket locked/
my tattoo artist my hype man/
and im’ma see you at choir practice/
im’ma see you at purple passion/
“yo im’ma k!ll trell the next time/
his ex come round and he funny actin’”
hook
i been at the center of/
a city full of heat/
you can tell them babies laughing/
by the way they show they t–th/
now if you looking for a party/
just head out to the street /
right round tampa/

where the sun shining so bright/
it’ll put you to sleep/
ain’t no point in bringin crabs cause/
our cookout’s at the beach/
don’t come up in my mama house/
acting like you cannot speak/
right round in tampa/

verse three
imma florida orange/
i storm in the morn and perform what a chorus of h-rns/
i was born in the corn/
with a form that’s quiet in the cold but’ll swarm in the warm/
nappy roots, nappy roots, nappy roots
3x in the mirror/
ride slow with my lil cousin holdin/
the car door, let my mixtape bang out your ears/
every other month is hurricane season/
we po’, we black, we ain’t leavin’/
confederate flags on the ceiling/
but them white folks eating
out the hands of my grandma holiday season/
barefoot goyamming where /
everybody know a tom g/
you can find me/
playing baseball with a broomstick in the middle of the street/
jit/
outro
aye real quick
google: “florida woman ain’t tryna become a star because it ain’t nothing but a ball of gas”
“florida woman put her right hand to god and that’s why this track slap”

get? cause me and god’s hand met in the sky like a- you got it

- zhalarina

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