White lines, pretty baby, tattoos
Don't know what they mean
They're special, just for you
White palms, baking powder on the stove
Cooking up a dream, turning diamonds into snow
I feel you, pretty baby, feel me
Turn it up hot, loving you is free
I like it down, like it down way low
But you already know that
You already know

Come on down to Florida
I got something for ya
We could see the kilos or the Keys, baby, oh, yeah
Guns in the summertime
Chic-a Cherry Cola lime
Prison isn't nothing to me if you'll be by my

Yayo, yayo, yayo
And all the dope fiends
Yayo, yayo, yayo

Sun in my mouth and gold hoops
You like your little baby like you like your drinks, cool
White lines, pretty daddy, goes: Kid, you snort it like a champ
Like the winner, winner in

Come on down to Florida
I got something for ya
We could see the kilos or the Keys, baby, oh, yeah
Guns in the summertime
Chic-a Cherry Cola lime
Prison isn't nothing to me if you'll be by my side

Yayo, yayo, yayo
And all the dope fiends
Yayo, yayo, yayo

We could get high in Miami, dance the night away
People never die in Miami, that's what they all say
(You believe me, don't you, baby?)

Come on down to Florida
I got something for ya
We could see the kilos or the Keys, baby, oh, yeah
Guns in the summertime
Chica Cherry Cola lime
Prison don't mean nothing to me if you'll be by my side

Yayo, yayo, yayo
All the Floridians like
Yayo, yayo, yayo
All the Colombians like
Yayo, yayo, yayo
And all my girlfriends
Yayo, yayo, yayo

That's how we do it like
Mm-mm, pretty baby
White lines, pretty baby
Gold teeth, pretty baby
Dance the night away

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Written by: Dan Auerbach / Harmony Corrine / Lana Del Rey · This isn't the songwriter? Let us know.
Sent by Bruno, Subtitled by Julia e Mimim
Did you see an error in the lyrics? Send us your correction.