lirik lagu mavi - denise murrell
[chorus]
ayy
one~fifty wet, but demandin’ respect
i sign the front and the backs of my checks
with the curator, we chat at the met
they can’t even tell that i rap, how i dress
i got two~fifty somethin’ grams on my neck
hand on my weapon, i scan for a threat, n~gga
[verse 1]
uh
i was in school writin’ hood n~ggas’ essays for cash and later finessin’ the bag
i’m gettin’ in heaven off grandmama prayers alone
religion a weapon, i’ll pass then pad the pastor pocket
blast the rocket, mastermind, the mag, i pop it
so they gotta be mad
gone for too long, so she callin’ me naggin’
askin’ me when i’ma get off that sad sh~t
hit for a bag and i call back to laugh
rimowa attaché, stickin’ magnets on it
with the k’s, mainly chat in code
if you really hate me, then you wouldn’t pay me no attention, not trippin’, cashin’ on it
passionate, casanova
way back in the gap, i hoed you
ashamed, my bl!ck back in the holster
you ain’t deserve that, i was growin’
even back in my lackin’, broke years
n~ggas wasn’t actin’ local
alligator patch and loafers
twenty~five, but actin’ older
on my mama
[chorus]
ayy
one~fifty wet, but demandin’ respect
i sign the front and the backs of my checks
with the curator, we chat at the met
they can’t even tell that i rap, how i dress
i got two~fifty somethin’ grams on my neck
hand on my weapon, i scan for a threat, n~gga
[verse 2]
ayy
made my first million still livin’ with mom
she never tripped that i ain’t have a job
i robbed before, i just sat up deprived
n~gga tried pokin’ me, i copped a rod
plotted through covid with that on my mind
n~ggas don’t even know what i had on the line
i smile, beguile, dyin’ in style
pile in a crowd, slimin’ ’em out
silent as mouse, blood on my breath
quite as kept, i’m aligned with ’em now
i feel like escape is futile
see the same face every few miles
play the blues, ain’t nothin’ to brood ’bout
married to the game with renewed vows
i just, uh
[chorus]
ayy
one~fifty wet, but demandin’ respect
i sign the front and the backs of my checks
with the curator, we chat at the met
they can’t even tell that i rap, how i dress
i got two~fifty somethin’ grams on my neck
hand on my weapon, i scan for a threat, n~gga
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