lirik lagu 11six music d.l.b - coordinates in ink
11six music…hustle harmonics…
[verse 1]
i ain’t write it down, just dropped the pin
stood still while the screen locked in
didn’t breathe, just let that compass spin
prayed the spot i chose would never spin again
few miles out where the grass still wild
past them homes with the half~acre smile
right at the edge where the roads feel broke
no traffic, no signs, just fences and smoke
tucked the stash where the plots ain’t zoned
behind new builds, where the mowing don’t go
neighbors close, but they don’t look deep
they got dogs, not questions, and secrets to keep
had latex gloves from the valero run
trash bags wrapped like they weighin’ a ton
crown royal sacks and a shoebox stack
bills folded tight with a bleach~smell pack
didn’t drop no pin twice, didn’t text no b~tch
didn’t call no bro, that’s how mouths get stitched
saved the file, then cleared my screen
if i die with the code, they’ll never come clean
couple days later, them suits came through
didn’t say my name, but i knew they knew
i was booked on breath, not bricks or tags
i did time with a smirk and a duffle of rags
tat got placed just above my elbow
outlined clean, but the meaning don’t show
ain’t no flex when the ink run deep
that’s a grave i marked so the dirt don’t speak
i don’t go back, i don’t test that spot
if the mold took over or the stacks still rot
i just ride past slow like i’m checkin’ a ghost…..
(11six music … hustle harmonics)
[lianna marie]
somewhere in dirt, name still breathes
secrets hid under broken leaves..
time can’t wash what the silence keeps
ink on arm, where the memory sleeps…
don’t speak on what it cost,..
the map still holds what the world lost…
coordinates in ink, not meant to be read..
not flex, not trend, just the weight bled..
above the elbow, where the past don’t fade..
a marker for the part they couldn’t raid..
buried the truth so it wouldn’t get sold..
but the silence screams every time it gets cold..
somewhere in dirt, name still breathes
secrets hid under broken leaves..
time can’t wash what the silence keeps
ink on arm, where the memory sleeps…
don’t speak on what it cost,..
the map still holds what the world lost…
coordinates in ink, not meant to be read..
not flex, not trend, just the weight bled..
above the elbow, where the past don’t fade..
a marker for the part they couldn’t raid..
buried the truth so it wouldn’t get sold..
but the silence screams every time it gets cold..
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