laflare Gummy

Lyrics

I get racks out every summa

Baby hol up I got ice in my shoulder got ice in my veins
Fuck the show up baby I'm jumpin out the stage I whip da mulsane
I fucked my shoulder up when I crash this whip they showing love
When they scream my name they kno wassup
Baby you know I'm cold as fuck
And baby you know what's up
Pop out the crowd they know it's us
Can't trust no nigga who ain't my brudda you know they fake as fuck
Can't trust no nigga who ain't my brudda you know they be switching up
And i seen it all from a distance
I got fake niggas tryna surround me
Baby i got some hundreds ho
Bae you know im countin though
All my bruddas outside with it
Play with one of one we goin die wit it
Fuck it we goin die bout it
Fuck it we goin ride bout it ho
Fosho lil bitch
You done shown me some sides of you
baby please dont lie to me
Cause i never lie to you
Nigga think he sliding through but i die bout everyone of my bruddas
That shit ain't new
Gotta pop my shit everyday baby ion got a excuse
My brudda outside everyday with that k yeah he got that tool
These bitches coming by the 2's
Yea they comin in by the pairs
Im jumping right out the roof w this choppa it go blam
Im jumping out the coupe
All these niggas gettin slammed

Baby hol up I got ice in my shoulder got ice in my veins
Fuck the show up baby I'm jumpin out the stage I whip da mulsane
I fucked my shoulder up when I crash this whip they showing love
When they scream my name they kno wassup
Baby you know I'm cold as fuck
And baby you know what's up
Pop out the crowd they know it's us
Can't trust no nigga who ain't my brudda you know they fake as fuck
Can't trust no nigga who ain't my brudda you know they be switching up
And i seen it all from a distance

FASF PROD RICAS ILYM4T

rocket

A Three-Movement Hip-Hop Symphony About Art, Surveillance, and Survival
Part I: The Scam (Intimate Confession)
Minimal piano and brush strokes
A painter gets excited about selling their first piece—30 hours of work, a lifetime of imagination. Then comes the gut punch: "It's a scam." What follows is a raw meditation on trying to create in a world that's weaponized hope itself. The beat stays minimal, letting the story breathe while AI glitch sounds underscore how machines feast on stolen creativity.
Part II: The Panopticon (Industrial Paranoia)
Surveillance static and heavy bass
The personal becomes political as the track shifts into darker territory. They can track your gait from 50 meters away, know your heartbeat, catalog your entire life—but somehow can't stop the scammers bleeding artists dry. Industrial sounds and found surveillance audio create an atmosphere of technological claustrophobia.
Part III: The Revelation (Revolutionary Clarity)
Building to orchestral climax
The final movement strips away all pretense: "They fucking hate those who can create / But they gotta have it." This isn't incompetence—it's systematic torture. The production explodes into its most aggressive form as the narrator realizes the surveillance state protects the criminals, not the victims. Ends with defiant clarity: "Make art for your soul, not to serve their fear."
A complete journey from personal heartbreak to systemic understanding—conscious rap that hits like a documentary, flows like poetry, and burns like truth.

All Out (Feat. Bennotbenjamin)

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