KILLY - REALLY DECEASED

You want it? (You) can't have it (what?)
Can't manage (what?), No attachment (yeah)
I'm not from (me), this planet (huh)
Crash landed (what?), Diamonds on me and they dancin'
You want it? (You) can't have it (what?)
Can't have it (what?), can't have it (yeah)
You want it? (You) can't have it (what?)
Can't have it (what?), can't have it

Jealousy, envy and greed
Walk 'round and they follow me (me, yeah)
Fresh to death penalty
Secretly I'm really deceased (yeah)
I got like no room to breathe
Desert coupe feel like submarine (ooh, skrrt, ooh)
She Japanese-Guyanese
Skin tone look like Hennessey
More money, more problems for me
Mind frame expand off a beam
Remember nights with rips on the seams
Summer nights my ends didn't leave
Remember nights my ends didn't meet
Me and bro went half on a deegs
Fast forward we in Miami
Fuck three hoes trilogy on repeat
Four zeroes, but I keep it discreet
My earlobes they dance Billie Jean
Broski still stuck in the streets
My uncle's in the bin gettin' D's
Look 'round, many depend on me
Infinity stones, think I found every piece
Closed doors make collection of keys
Back then, paradise on TV (yeah)
Woke up, no, this not a dream
No more living life on repeat

You want it? (You) can't have it (what?)
Can't manage (what?), No attachment (yeah)
I'm not from (me), this planet (huh)
Crash landed (what?), Diamonds on me and they dancin'

And my bitch on my stick
.45 blitz, it won't miss
Everything hit (yeah), diamonds hit (yeah)
Check my wrist (yeah), tick, tick, tick (hey)
Look at my bitch, thick, thick, thick
Money comin' in, infinite
Take a trip then extend
Talk a lot of shit, don't make sense

Written by:
Khalil Tatem

Publisher:
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management

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