Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Blacc Cream, artist - Tsu Surf
Date of issue: 28.01.2021
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Blacc Cream |
No pictures wit' the plug, he good as don’t exist |
A duffle bag of hundreds with us |
open doors, don’t let 'em front it to us |
I gotta decline kind gestures |
Came from money, business partners if you trust me with it |
Bitch, she bilingual case it’s funny business |
Them niggas only know you got it if you make it known |
Trips to the face alone |
Shut up conversation, feds taping phones |
Heard a lil' static, had to change the phone |
Square bitch drivin', tryin' make it home |
Who you got besides yourself? |
Mines well go and get it |
He just want beat it, bro |
Wouldn’t cuff a co-defendant |
Trench is like the jungle, who surviving? |
Pictures on the table, both shooters and who driving |
The clarity’s surprising |
Trap things, out here since the AM for this black cream |
First name basis with these crack fiends (Yo) |
Cops inquiring 'bout what these tats mean |
I’m just tryna stack cream (Flex, flex) |
That all black cream |
(Black cream) |
Ayo, Surf, you know I feel you on this shit, right? |
(Black cream) Uh-huh |
Check one, check two (Black cream) |
(Black cream) Butcher coming, nigga |
Shoulda seen me, grinding and stayin' alive wasn’t easy |
Needed more hammers than hugs when mama couldn’t feed me |
Trusted the process and like magic, made them pussies king me |
Treated the pyrex and the cabinet like it was a genie |
Probably start up a turf war off a Benny and Surf song |
At your funeral, twenty niggas with straps in a church hall |
If you real, you get your name on a tat, or a verse dawg |
Twenty-one gun salute in a lot, then we murk off |
Niggas envy 'cause they never could fuck with me, it’s too much |
They want me sitting back in federal custody, I had enough |
I walked the plug for a eighteen soft and patched it up |
Told that nigga, «I'm around, get wit' us"and backed it up |
What you know about black cream? |
I’m havin' bad dreams |
That I’m down to my last few thou', with my last fiends |
Brown dope with white cut, it’s like a halfbreed |
I’ma make it, stack it and clean it, long as cash green (The Butcher) |