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lirik lagu youngin goated tyty - no luv in the trenchez

[verse: yg tyt]
ayy, f~ck peace, this the trappin’ season (f~ck peace)
opps want smoke, i’ma give ’em reasons (boom boom)
lil’ bro died, now my heart uneven
so i ride with a stick like i’m fightin’ demons (bah!)
ain’t no love in the trenchez, just pain and extensions
my block like a prison, got more straps than a kitchen (grrt)
i was 8 seein’ murders, now i’m 12 with a vision (facts)
that pole my religion, and my glock do the preachin’ (amen)
tell that b~tch i ain’t got no heart, it froze up back in ’20 (cold)
only thing i trust is this clip and a hundred~round drum with a switch for the semi (bah bah bah!)
no brody, no mentor, just pain and envy
had to make a name with a bladе and a .50 (grrah!)
now it’s backdoor season, mask down, creepin’
i was chillin’ but that pain got me fiendin’ (slidin’)
thеse streets ain’t sweet, boy, this ain’t no disney
told my opps come spin, but i’m ridin’ with a grizzly (brrr!)
who gon’ cry when a demon drop? (n0body)
all black hoodie with a beam on top (laser)
ain’t no rules in this dirty plot
we don’t talk to the cops, we just clean the spot (mop it up!)
i got scars in my soul, i don’t sleep no more (can’t sleep)
got sh~lls in the couch, bloodstains on the floor
told my teacher i ain’t comin’ back no more (nah)
i’m trappin’ out the window with a .44 (bang!)
they say i’m young but act too grown
i say, “b~tch, i been cold since i saw blood on the phone”
lil’ jay died, had his brains on the lawn
now i carry his pain like a chain when i’m on (rest up!)
bro mom cryin’, but she know what it is
better this life than bein’ broke with no fridge (real)
we risk it all just to flex a lil’ wrist
he ain’t make it to thirteen, he got caught in the mix (d~mn!)
still walk through the hood with a blunt and a burner
still pray to god, even though i’m a earner
still duckin’ feds, still steppin’ like a learner
still pourin’ lean ‘til my stomach turn purple (leaned up)
these streets don’t love you, they hug you then hurt you
catch a opp lackin’, we gon’ close that circle (close it)
he a rat, he ain’t gang, we erase like commercials
now his mama postin’ doves in a virtual (too late)
i don’t want friends, just money and guns (facts)
twelve years old, but i ran from a ton (skrrt!)
grew up fast, this life ain’t fun
we die young where i’m from, and i’m one of the ones (yeah)
now my block say i’m the last lil’ hope
so i tote two sticks like i’m crossin’ the pope
whole lotta smoke, no joke, we tote
turn pain into bars ‘til my name get wrote (stamp me!)
yeah… no love in the trenchez (nah)
we bleed, we break, we burn, we bend sh~t (bend it!)
one call, then it’s mission
better pray that your soul ain’t next on the wishlist (boom!)

- lirik lagu youngin goated tyty

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