Текст песни Tampa - Zhalarina

My auntie made some Crab Chilau
We headed over there now
Ah huh
Oooooh
There we go
Uh
Uh huh, oh
Yah
Oh yah
I come from that flirty dirty
That scurry dirty where the curry's purty (pretty)
Eatin' hotdogs in the church parkin' lot
My daddy 4-wheeler in three parking spots
You wanna come off that eggs and ham
And that honey bacon on a lemon square
And that futuristic, county fair
School girl flippin' burnt hair
But it's simple (it's simple) like a new day (like a new day)
Or a 2-fade (or a 2-fade)
When the crew's paid (when the crew's paid)
And everybody looking on a Tuesday
For a girl name Diji who do braids
We got fold-out chairs in the back seat
Cause I'm headed to my sister track meet
Red Lobster biscuits and apple sauce
I got bologna burnin' on a gas stove, and now
I been at the center of
A city full of heat
You can tell them babies laughing
By the way they show they teeth
Now if you looking for a party
Just head out to the street
Right 'round in Tampa
And if you catch me lookin' decent
Riding cleaner than a mug
My daddy got sent away
So the hood just showing me love
Grandpa gave me his chain
Cause gold is bout thick as blood
Down in Tampa
See, listen it's
Too much fight in a crack dog
Too much night in a black doll
But when girls look like black dolls
They drip attitude and mac sauce
We got welfare for the well's fair
Disrespecting your Ivy League
Come home for a holiday
Now what's a college degree to these collard greens?
We Georgia peach, New York Giant
Havana, Cuba on the nightstand
Ybor City, casket dropped and
My tattoo artist my hype man
And I'mma see you at choir practice
I'mma see you at Purple Passion
"Yo, I'mma kill Trell the next time
His ex come round and he funny actin'"
I been at the center of
A city full of heat
You can tell them babies laughing
By the way, they show they teeth
Now if you looking for a party
Just head out to the street
Right 'round in Tampa
Where the sun shining so bright
It'll put you to sleep
Ain't no point in bringin crabs cause
Our cookout's at the beach
Don't come up in my mama house
Acting like you cannot speak
Right round in Tampa
Imma Florida orange
I storm in the morn and perform what a chorus of horns
I was born in the corn
With a form that's quiet in the cold but'll swarm in the warm
Nappy Roots, Nappy Roots, Nappy Roots
3x in the mirror
Riding slow with my lil' cousin holdin'
The car door, let the mixtape bang out your ears
Every other month is hurricane season
We poor, we black, we ain't leaving
Confederate flag on the ceiling
But them white folks eating
Out the hands of my grandma holiday season
Barefoot Goyamming where
Everybody know a Tom G
You can find me
Playing baseball with a broomstick in the middle of the street
JIT

Aye real quick
Google: "Florida woman ain't tryna be a star
Cause it ain't nothing but a ball of gas"
Google: "Florida woman put her right hand to God
And that's why this track slap"
Get it? Cause me and God's hand met in the sky
Like a-
You got it