Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fresh Flowers, artist - La the Darkman. Date of issue: 20.08.2010
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Fresh Flowers |
| Yeah… fresh flowers… |
| La the Dark… yo… |
| Figaro chains, Cuban Linx, three quarter minks |
| Private planes, jet lear, bull horn, cardiere |
| Insight done told me that I live, elevator in my crib |
| Backyard, full court, literature, Rob Report |
| Blue diamond, BBS, double breast, bulletproof vest |
| Two g stack, bulging out my coochie sweats |
| Forever in competition, Cryst' pissing, roley glisten |
| Type nigga been baking pies, in my momma kitchen |
| While she at work, fucking virgins, screaming in hurt |
| Lift they tennis skirt, seventeen pumps, then I squirt |
| Favorite bitch; |
| Mary Blige, favorite gun; |
| four-five |
| Been in multiple shoot-outs, three times, I almost died |
| I ride, like a cowboy, B.K. |
| wild boy |
| Heartless child, like to play with forty cal. |
| toys |
| Half a millionaire, try’nna be a billionaire |
| Osama Bin Ladin’s father’s an oil zillionaire |
| Tycoon, causing mass destructions, like typhoons |
| Believe, you cross the Clan, you die soon |
| But rather than later, have you breathing on the respirator |
| Busting at your click, niggas running out of they data’s |
| It’s La… |
| Understand… it’s just the life, man |
| Get a load of me… yeah… |
| Feel like I’m locked in the cellar, La the Darkman, Nelson Mandela |
| Smoke scents in suites, Penn & Teller, cigarello fella |
| Momma wished I went to Yale, but I ended up in jail |
| Making collect calls, try’nna post bail |
| And that wasn’t where I planned to be, fighting for my sanity |
| This world is about money, not about humanity |
| Young dude, taught to do math, eat food |
| Older Gods, from the yards, trained my attitude rude |
| I’m Godly, but when I’m pissed, I’m devilish |
| Malcolm X type, with a John Gotti twist |
| Stay blitzed, on the daily, except when I’m with my baby |
| I gave out consignment, fuck you, nigga, pay me |
| Elementary Dear Watson, gats keep popping |
| Drugs keep clocking, the feds keep watching |
| So I stay low-pro, always keep a calico |
| Beemer or the Benz, both got the stash, yo |
| It’s ridiculous, my style is sicker than cyphillis |
| Don’t laugh much, cuz my heart ain’t ticklish |
| It’s La… |
| Nigga, yeah, fresh flowers, nigga |