Autor: cawi

Li Rye – Broken Heart Lyrics
Intro
(Mommy, India got the beats)
(Ayo, Keyz, make ‘em feel it all)

Chorus
Call him D Wade, one of my opps had caught three to the chest
We shoot at necks, so save your money, don’t even buy a vest
Said you want smoke, just get in line and we gon’ whack you next
When I buy opps, I call my brothers ‘cause they shoot the best
At the wake the only time them niggas get to rest (Grrt)
Bitch, I’m a shooting star, I kill ‘bout my respect
No ref, we ride with TEC’s
Out of bonds, catch ‘em
Like a pre-game warmup, we gon’ leave you stretched
Verse 1
Bodies droppin’ ‘cause all my shooters clumsy
He dropped a diss, we wrapped his ass up like a fucking mummy
Head top, leave him brain dead, same nigga say he a crash dummy
Know niggas that won’t even die for theyself sayin’ they’ll kill for me
No construction work, I got some niggas that’s gon’ drill for me
He cracked a four, then died, I was cracking up when they killed buddy
That pussy nigga dead, shit got me dead, that’s why it’s still funny
Better have a rope around me than a thief ‘cause it’s gon’ kill me if you steal from me
I broke her heart some years ‘go, wonder if she still love me
Sent a text that I can help you put it back together
Stood in the rain without a jacket or sweater
That shit had made me a man
Bro got juvenile life, I just wrote him a letter
Oh, ‘bout love I don’t know
I’m in traffic sippin’ green right now, prolly why I been on go

Chorus
Call him D Wade, one of my opps had caught three to the chest
We shoot at necks, so save your money, don’t even buy a vest
Said you want smoke, just get in line and we gon’ whack you next
When I buy opps, I call my brothers ‘cause they shoot the best
At the wake the only time them niggas get to rest (Grrt)
Bitch, I’m a shooting star, I kill ‘bout my respect
No ref, we ride with TEC’s
Out of bonds, catch ‘em
Like a pre-game warmup, we gon’ leave you stretched
Verse 2
Like a freaky bitch, we get these niggas smashed any time of the day
I bought bilingual bullets for my chopper, it’s a Russian K
Got hollow tips on any Glock that I clutch, this bitch’ll eat your face
Set him up with a ho, cremate the bitch and throw him in a vase
He wasn’t no big opp, he was a lil’ dog, I could fit him in a urn
We call these glizzies fire ‘cause these R.I.P. bullets rip and burn
Might die, you missed a turn, I ain’t sparing children, never too young to die
I know I ain’t friends but once I die, I know I’m gon’ fry
‘Fore I go, just look me in my eyes and don’t tell me a lie
Poppin’ Percocets to clear my mind, I try not to cry
Lil’ bitch told me that I caught her eye, I must look like a stye
It ain’t no name on them bullets flyin’, either die or comply
My ex-bitch keep callin’ me, why? You know that it’s too late for that
Gotta pray, then he ain’t survive, I’ll never get that baby back
How she did me, know I hated that
Been in Hell and made it back
And my pants so big, my pockets fat
And these skinnies for a lot of racks

Chorus
Call him D Wade, one of my opps had caught three to the chest
We shoot at necks, so save your money, don’t even buy a vest
Said you want smoke, just get in line and we gon’ whack you next
When I buy opps, I call my brothers ‘cause they shoot the best
At the wake the only time them niggas get to rest (Grrt)
Bitch, I’m a shooting star, I kill ‘bout my respect
No ref, we ride with TEC’s
Out of bonds, catch ‘em
Like a pre-game warmup, we gon’ leave you stretched
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