Lyrics Terry Gross - Dessa

Ever since I was a little predator
Mom's like, "Don't get ahead of her"
I was on the hunt for something better than the regular
And knew there was candy at the register
So not about to settle for the vegetables
Full-grown, still got a sweet tooth
Still tryna climb all the walls, I can see you
Take your influences with you, everywhere you go
Mine were Carmen Sandiego, Lauryn Hill, and Terry Gross

I've been playing hard to keep
Kiss and teleport
Dark roots where the bleach won't reach
Man, that's gotta be a metaphor
But I'm still tryna storyboard it
Call me back if it's important
If you're looking for me
On this Tinder shit about partners in crime
Seems like Bonnie's working little harder than Clyde
When it comes to the heist, doesn't feel like a partnership
'Cause my accomplice is completely incompetent

(I don't need a drink menu, I'll take a white wine)
(Do a Twizzler)
(Great, thanks, man)

Two bars walk into a joke
First is a gold bar, other is soap
"Yo, lemme get the punchline I'm worth most"
Gold says with a glass too full to toast
But Soap makes her voice go real low
Leans close
Rarely one to go boast
But when the banks hit the button, the credit goes down to nothing
And the flood waters come in, then let's see who floats

Watch for unintended consequences, those you don't see
The initials of your girlfriend could kill the fucking oak tree
Nothing in my pockets but the body heat
Travel light and mind your manners
That's my foreign policy

I'm that Netflix chick
See the pieces on the ceiling
Strategy above me
All the moves as I'm competing
I'll arrive by lightning bolt
Leave by cannonball
The china's fine, man
The bull's mechanical

(Before we continue this conversation)
(I just have to make sure you're not a robot)
(Here, which one of these pictures have buses?)
(Robots will never be able to figure out buses)

A base hit is the son of a pitch
A tanning bed is the sun of the rich
Son, keep your knuckles up, front of the fists
Don't go broke looking for something to fix

A base hit is the son of a pitch
A tanning bed is the sun of the rich
Son, keep your knuckles up, front of the fists
Don't go broke looking for something to fix