Fuck ya lil vest we gonna aim for ya melon 

this ain’t a regular self promo comment, i got co-signed by trippie redd, lil tecca & more, also a song prod nick mira (hollywood) all at da age of 14. fw me before i blow 🥳💥proof on my profile got it reposted 

On my own no bap

Guinness

Leaf Ward - Guinness .mp3

Leaf Ward - Discrete 💎

Banger

Pay you in drugs, ho — crack, meth, E (yuh)
Pay you in drugs, ho — shrooms, DMT (what)
Pay you in drugs, ho — coke, LSD (bitch)
You want a feeling? I invoice in keys (keys)

Hot hands, hot plate, heat rise, stove glow,
Ghost ride, low tint, cold eyes, no halo,
Cash talk, code words, Vosne-Romanée flow,
Dark laugh, slow drag, hellfire, volcano.

Cut—          lines.  Count—          sins.
Clock—          spins.  God—          grins.
I don’t—          flinch.  Pressure—          wins.
I pay— in drugs; that’s— my— hymn.

Tabs in a tin, I twist that top,
Drip in a cup, then sip that drop,
Lights go red, then bass go pop,
If trust ain’t dead, this night won’t stop.

Slide in the city, the pity is pretty, I’m grimy but witty, I’m litty—no lie,
Vials in the pocket, a rocket, I bop it, I’m toxic but honest, I’ll look in your eye.
Demons are tenants, they’re paying me rent in the minutes you spend when you’re hoping to fly—
Bitch, I’m the fuckin pilot, be quiet; we riot in silence and step to the sky.

Boom 808s, room fuckin levitates,
Zoom through the gates, doom resonates,
Loon never breaks, fumes medicate,
Tomb decorates; who’s—heaven’s gate?

Pay you in drugs, ho — crack, meth, E
Pay you in drugs, ho — shrooms, DMT
Pay you in drugs, ho — coke, LSD
You want a feeling? I invoice in keys

Backroom deals, blackroom peels—peel back fate (uh)
Tattooed seals on vacuum seals—no handshake.
Pop acid tabs, then pace that fuckin floor,
Knock-knock, shit devils at the backstage 
If the light go low and the hi-hat talk,
I write my debts in chalk, then I walk.

(We don’t do hugs.)  (We don’t do trust.)
(Count what you want.)  (I pay you in dust.)

Mirror-maze mind with a mine full of mirrors,
Micro-dose moments make fuckin monsters nearer,
Money talks Morse, my morals fucked up here,
Midnight math; make the margins clearer.

Breath run thin when the set go slam,
Neck go numb when the decks go jam,
Text that plug with a deadpan “fam,”
We hood as shit muthafucka, this yo mans

R1: I keep receipts in the smoke, that’s proof.  
R2: You keep beliefs in a joke—no truth.  
R1: I trade your dreams for a dose—uncouth.  
R2: We turn the booth to a cult—dark roof.
R1: Count that pain like a tithe—pay dues.  
R2: Mount that bass, let it writhe—shake rooms.  
R1: Life ain’t free, it arrives—then tombs.  
R2: Pay you in drugs; that’s the vibe—no blooms.

2 Deuce Ft. G1000 (Prod. By GrossGod)

Leaf Ward

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