| Don’t kill a rose
|
| Before it could bloom
|
| Fly, baby, fly
|
| Out the cocoon
|
| You don’t have to hide
|
| I can smell it in your eyes
|
| That there’s something more to say, baby
|
| Them words
|
| Damn, run me back, yeah
|
| If I could, if I could
|
| If you could
|
| Find the words to say
|
| Find the words to say
|
| Find the words
|
| In the garden
|
| Shed
|
| Go
|
| Don’t kill a rose
|
| Before it could bloom
|
| Fly, baby, fly
|
| Out the cocoon
|
| Ayo
|
| Garden shed, garden shed, garden shed, garden shed
|
| For the garden
|
| That is where I was hidin'
|
| That was real love I was in
|
| Ain’t no reason to pretend
|
| Garden shed, garden shed, garden shed
|
| Garden shed for the garçons
|
| Them feelings that I was guardin'
|
| Heavy on my mind
|
| All my friends lost
|
| They couldn’t read the signs
|
| I didn’t wanna talk and tell 'em my location
|
| And they ain’t wanna walk
|
| Truth is, since a youth kid, thought it was a phase
|
| Thought it’d be like the phrase; |
| «poof,» gone
|
| But, it’s still goin' on
|
| Big fan of the beige tan
|
| Polka dot nose, how it goes
|
| Had to keep it on the subwoofer
|
| A couple butterflies wanna float
|
| But I was always like, «Eh»
|
| Barely interested, but bagged just to brag to my boys like, «Bruh»
|
| This is a crucial subject matter
|
| Sensitive like cookin' batter
|
| 'Til the temperature that’s risin'
|
| Steppin' on that ladder, tryna
|
| Grab the rings of Saturn, I’ma
|
| Planet by the time you hear this
|
| Shit and chatter 'bout the heat
|
| It will not fuckin' matter |