[Verse 1: billy woods]
In my home cold come through the floor like a malevolent force
It's a war going on inside, prolly why I ain't lock the door
Buckshot hit the trespassers
Mumble somethin' after "yes massa"
My heroes? The ones who wasn't captured
Black republican after taxes, ramblin' anti-vaxxers
I observe that old adage
Washington Heights, managed a few words in Spanish
The bag was fantastic damage
Inelastic markets, smart-dumb niggas lookin like Stringer Bell in those classes
The beat massive
Me & Skech hop in hop in like car jackers, weavin' through evening traffic
Ski masks, my lips chapped, weed crumbs on my fleece jacket
As a child I picked fruit off a cactus
Now I can see my breath inside the apartment
Bears / Packers starting
My breath ragged between pulls of that dagger
[Refrain: Skech185]
What does life think?
Tried to clean it up with bottles under my sink
Your artist portion had too many ice drinks
Clearing something up every time that I blink, whoa
What do I think?
Took far too long for you to find a nice shrink
If strangers can't confirm with me their life stinks
Well I'll smell that same shit and rock the lightning, whoa
What does life think?
Tried to clean it up with bottles under my sink
Your artist portion had too many ice drinks
Clearing something up every time that I blink, whoa
What do I think?
Took far too long for you to find a nice shrink
If strangers can't confirm with me their life stinks
Well I'll smell that same shit and rock the lightning, whoa
[Verse 2: Skech185]
Inability is a feedback loop
Smelled crack twice on the way home recently
An awful familiar, secretly I need that truth
Lost a friend to heroin ten years back (He died the other day)
City's filled of weeping blind
He was, incidentally, raised by demons until he adopted his own
Or saw him and her snort it in a staircase
The west side profited
And we took pictures - my god, we took pictures of forgotten accomplishments
A record spins faintly in the distance
A child dresses herself for church, to go alone to church
Sometimes innocence hurts
In such a way it summons the dead to share words
I was raised to appraise love as "imperfect, but workin' on it"
That's four to a bed for eighteen months
That's two jobs and side hustles
That's an occasional want answered with tired eyes
I spent my childhood watching two people figure it out
And as I speak they're still figuring it out
Which explains my patience and mania
I've lost and found myself in the eyes of women with beautiful minds
As one does
We prayed to the same violet hour
My visage of stability frays at the edges, but that's my war
Inundated with pragmatic architecture she fell to the ground
Pullin' the surrounding collapsing around her like a million Polaroids
No screams from the buildings, more of an accepted hush to await what happens next
You're no longer there to uphold the joy
As all sound dies you become a set of arms
Reliable emotional responses
Set apart from the cause by an X-Factor of passion
Take it how you will: the proper word sequence rationed and you pull her up, reconstructing the scene
You dust both of you off
You make a joke, and you walk her home
You always walk her home!
She gets there safe! And you walk alone
Most blues songs ain't about struggle, nigga
This is the anxiety of yesternow and the tax your heart pays for it
Ferried by sampled drums
Your anthem shows up when you're ready because you are made for it
And that's western automatic music (YES!)
That's four to a bed that led to reviews in French
I could quote a black author, or I could just write
Our hero bartends:
Sitting is lofty, he stands over his dinner then back to work
His elders did demolition, ate Spam, drink coffee then back to work
Comfort treads softly, it's trench to trench victories, so back to work
"You gotta do what you gotta do" says the photo album's phantoms; he's back to work
Buys the most meaningful gifts, charming, he's sorry, he's back to work
Those dreams don't build themselves, who leads the army? Back to work
She walks out of his life, he straightens up, back to work
He's only good at fucking, fucking up, and making art about it, he's back, it worked!
