Discover the poetic beauty in ‘My Flag/Da Homies’ by AD. This lyric breakdown takes you on a journey through the artist’s thoughts, emotions, and the story they aim to tell. From clever metaphors to evocative imagery, we delve into the nuances that make this song a lyrical masterpiece. Whether you’re a fan of AD or a lover of well-crafted words, our detailed analysis will give you a deeper understanding and appreciation of this song.
Maybe I should iron out my flag
Maybe I should put another crease in it
Maybe I should iron out my flag
If you gang banging who you beefing with?
I Know your baby never hurt nobody
But he got his ass smoked at that Mustard party
OG Blood, everybody know me when I came in with the little homies, Skeme!
Get out the way yo, get out the way yo
That nigga duke just moved a house in yayo
And you know I keep gunners on the payroll
I even fucked with Mitchy Slick down in Daygo
Young General these niggas gotta spray for
You F*ck around and catch 20 out this Range Ro’
Mane that beef shit is what a nigga made for
I open fire on her open mouth, case closed
Came in this bitch with Chuck Taylor’s screaming f*ck haters
Bad bitch I’ma f*ck later, tryna touch paper
In a 6 tray rag going brazy up the ave
What I’m drinking got me thinking, nigga maybe I should iron out my –
Maybe I should iron out my flag
Maybe I should put another crease in it
Maybe I should iron out my flag
If you gang banging who you beefing with?
Is anybody killing us, that’s for anybody nigga
Mainline, waistside, westside nigga
F*ck peace, this for Crenshaw kings
Suckin’ out niggas, f*ck is ya’ll mean?
Lowkey is on drop, give a f*ck bout whatcho mama
When it’s on, it’s on, pop it like a bottle of patron
Then lay back with a bitch, man this is westside Jay 3-0 fifth
No gimmicks, God damn
I won’t stop being a blood to gangland
To my dope then kicked in locked up in a strange land
So when they be like, “Slick, why we ain’t see you on TV or nothin’?”
Shit, I’m still tryin’ get off the gang injunction
‘Cause when it come to this been, I’m a monster to your leaf
You can do a whole damu documentary on just me
Call it “The Life of a Hundred Percent Real Whooper”
They did it for the grams, moves and the hush
Gah damn
Maybe I should iron out my flag
Maybe I should put another crease in it
Maybe I should iron out my flag
If you gang banging who you beefing with?
I put the woop in the woop like my DLB’s
All I know is VNG’s and FTB’s
I ran phase back to back, that’s on STB
And if you claimin’ you a blood, shit, you better know me
Big homie gave me a gun and said “It better be empty”
I was eleven years old with a motha’fuckin’ fifty
I got love for certain niggas, I’ve been doing this since knee high Nehi
And you ain’t a real blood if you didn’t bang at the beehive
Westside AM, back in a straight jacket
Mister LA back, free my A track
Middle of July, I’m just tryin’ bring a Maybach
Whole city riding, I ain’t even did a Dre track
Nigga this [?], made the game mad
So east coast niggas be like “Cuh, you crackin’.”
Niggas ain’t goin’ hard, as you should stop rappin’
I’ma be the street rider till the casket
Maybe I should iron out my flag
Maybe I should put another crease in it
Maybe I should iron out my flag
If you gang banging who you beefing with?
The homies in the cut that’s on E, niggas turnt up and we bout to hit the street
The homie on probation, make him sit up in the back
Bout to hit the weed spot and get another sack
I said, the homies in the cut that’s on E, down for whatever cuz the homies roll deep
Finger on the trigger, bandana round the Mac
Ride through the hood with a cup full of ‘gnac
The homies in the cut that’s on E, niggas turnt up and we bout to hit the street
The homie on probation, make him sit up in the back
Bout to hit the weed spot and get another sack
I said, the homies in the cut that’s on E, down for whatever cuz the homies roll deep
Finger on the trigger, bandana round the Mac
Ride through the hood with a cup full of ‘gnac
I’m a real Compton Crip I hope you niggas get the message
Leave them 16’s open, I’ll make them look bad on records
Chuck told me “I’m Good”, now I’m headed down to the seaters
After that, straight to the hood where them tanners holding theme heaters
Look, sagging down the A-Line, war f*ck it no play time
Hit my first tour I was still chuckin’ up gang signs
Homies still cooking them cops hop out with K9
Lot of rappers’s callin’ out names, nigga don’t say mine
The homies in the cut that’s on E
Some niggas bang the C some niggas bangin’ the P
I’m really in the streets you other niggas is weak
On my mama and the hood, f*ck around and Ya ass in peace
Especially when
The homies in the cut that’s on E, niggas turnt up and we bout to hit the street
The homie on probation, make him sit up in the back
Bout to hit the weed spot and get another sack
I said, the homies in the cut that’s on E, down for whatever cuz the homies roll deep
Finger on the trigger, bandana round the Mac
Ride through the hood with a cup full of ‘gnac