Up in the bleachers in the penthouse, fronting
Stove burning a half a bird, you laker out, the legs is burning
We eating escovich, green pea soup, Korean coupe in the front
With twelve rich whores, ready to stunt
Roll the blunts, lady, you straighten the pussy, ran Glenny my man
Honest seven hundred gram, be easy
Then the phone rang, BLING BLING BLING, aiyo, King, two more ice packs
Coming, forty bundles of onion
Roll the reefer to the maximum, sax playing, lay on the drum
The Jeffersons on, I'm ready to cum
She looking at me with a relevant stare, know my pockets the only here
Could come up out the hood, stay here
Pissing Merlot out, twirl my little thing downstairs
Cuz anything other than that, we all Williamaires
Can't forget that, the ziplocks is gift bagged
None of that over night shit, we selling seconds, pa, hit back
Sean, aiyo, it's stupid hot, take a shotty with you
You and Barkim, make it pop
Them niggas is from the golden era, lemonade leathers
Who don't give a f*ck, if they die, they more high
They soldiers in the streets, they rebels
Bubble for muthaf*cking money, with bitches rocking stilettos
So when the drought hit, they on they shit
The sheeps come out, loving the C Cypher Powers, they cowards
Stay off the f*cking flowers... yup
Rocking a skull full of waves, four frames on his chains
Jamaican accent, fresh out Toronto, we black skinned
Young Black Panther M.O., love wheeling rentals
He on the crack spot, we know it as the trap shop
Adidas down, sterling brown, uncles is traffickers
Lifestyle throwing, spectacular
Green grass smokers with green hash, them niggas don't need cash
They only play fresher by the mean glass
A dream stash only when the good boy last
These is all roofless niggas, we don't feel glad
Left the Aspen, the back of the gas station
Remember no shorties in it, it's only Glocks with mags
Here the feds come, niggas is bad, no, give him his bag
These is ninjas in rags, rock the flags
Yeah, uh-huh, yeah, yeah, uh-huh
Word, for real, what the f*ck, damn
It's that fly shit, it's that muthaf*cking fly shit
Word up, we going nigga, one
Stay Off The Fuckin' Flowers Video (MV)
Blakroc - Stay Off The Fuckin' Flowers Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
Up in the bleachers in the penthouse, fronting
Stove burning a half a bird, you laker out, the legs is burning
We eating escovich, green pea soup, Korean coupe in the front
With twelve rich whores, ready to stunt
Roll the blunts, lady, you straighten the pussy, ran Glenny my man
Honest seven hundred gram, be easy
Then the phone rang, BLING BLING BLING, aiyo, King, two more ice packs
Coming, forty bundles of onion
Roll the reefer to the maximum, sax playing, lay on the drum
The Jeffersons on, I'm ready to cum
She looking at me with a relevant stare, know my pockets the only here
Could come up out the hood, stay here
Pissing Merlot out, twirl my little thing downstairs
Cuz anything other than that, we all Williamaires
Can't forget that, the ziplocks is gift bagged
None of that over night shit, we selling seconds, pa, hit back
Sean, aiyo, it's stupid hot, take a shotty with you
You and Barkim, make it pop
Them niggas is from the golden era, lemonade leathers
Who don't give a f*ck, if they die, they more high
They soldiers in the streets, they rebels
Bubble for muthaf*cking money, with bitches rocking stilettos
So when the drought hit, they on they shit
The sheeps come out, loving the C Cypher Powers, they cowards
Stay off the f*cking flowers... yup
Rocking a skull full of waves, four frames on his chains
Jamaican accent, fresh out Toronto, we black skinned
Young Black Panther M.O., love wheeling rentals
He on the crack spot, we know it as the trap shop
Adidas down, sterling brown, uncles is traffickers
Lifestyle throwing, spectacular
Green grass smokers with green hash, them niggas don't need cash
They only play fresher by the mean glass
A dream stash only when the good boy last
These is all roofless niggas, we don't feel glad
Left the Aspen, the back of the gas station
Remember no shorties in it, it's only Glocks with mags
Here the feds come, niggas is bad, no, give him his bag
These is ninjas in rags, rock the flags
Yeah, uh-huh, yeah, yeah, uh-huh
Word, for real, what the f*ck, damn
It's that fly shit, it's that muthaf*cking fly shit
Word up, we going nigga, one
Stove burning a half a bird, you laker out, the legs is burning
We eating escovich, green pea soup, Korean coupe in the front
With twelve rich whores, ready to stunt
Roll the blunts, lady, you straighten the pussy, ran Glenny my man
Honest seven hundred gram, be easy
Then the phone rang, BLING BLING BLING, aiyo, King, two more ice packs
Coming, forty bundles of onion
Roll the reefer to the maximum, sax playing, lay on the drum
The Jeffersons on, I'm ready to cum
She looking at me with a relevant stare, know my pockets the only here
Could come up out the hood, stay here
Pissing Merlot out, twirl my little thing downstairs
Cuz anything other than that, we all Williamaires
Can't forget that, the ziplocks is gift bagged
None of that over night shit, we selling seconds, pa, hit back
Sean, aiyo, it's stupid hot, take a shotty with you
You and Barkim, make it pop
Them niggas is from the golden era, lemonade leathers
Who don't give a f*ck, if they die, they more high
They soldiers in the streets, they rebels
Bubble for muthaf*cking money, with bitches rocking stilettos
So when the drought hit, they on they shit
The sheeps come out, loving the C Cypher Powers, they cowards
Stay off the f*cking flowers... yup
Rocking a skull full of waves, four frames on his chains
Jamaican accent, fresh out Toronto, we black skinned
Young Black Panther M.O., love wheeling rentals
He on the crack spot, we know it as the trap shop
Adidas down, sterling brown, uncles is traffickers
Lifestyle throwing, spectacular
Green grass smokers with green hash, them niggas don't need cash
They only play fresher by the mean glass
A dream stash only when the good boy last
These is all roofless niggas, we don't feel glad
Left the Aspen, the back of the gas station
Remember no shorties in it, it's only Glocks with mags
Here the feds come, niggas is bad, no, give him his bag
These is ninjas in rags, rock the flags
Yeah, uh-huh, yeah, yeah, uh-huh
Word, for real, what the f*ck, damn
It's that fly shit, it's that muthaf*cking fly shit
Word up, we going nigga, one
Writer: DANIEL AUERBACH, PATRICK CARNEY, COREY WOODS
Copyright: Lyrics © Wixen Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Group
Copyright: Lyrics © Wixen Music Publishing, Universal Music Publishing Group