Glue Traps (feat. Quelle Chris)

For a sip of cold water

'Til it all over

Real money's whatever's in your pockets when you're broke

'Cause for that last $12.25, dog, you don't even want to know

Don't prizefighter past my prime, shit's gone go how it go

No dive though, this deep water, can't just hop out the boat

Haram on the shirt, damn right, I want that pig smoked

If it's good work, only need a couple tokes

Recidivist, never gave up hope that we could move that dope

Hold up, let me pull your coat

What'll profit a man to gain the whole world if he ain't got time to gloat?

All-white crowd? I laugh at life's little jokes

Some of y'all never got up at the crack of dawn to go to work for the low, and it show (good for you, though)

It's hard to get out of bed when there's glue traps behind the stove

Bulldozers in the olive grove, soldiers switching to civilian clothes

Every story tell a story that's already been told

Everything's dead and gone, we only had the name of the road

Stretch a little, take a little more

Stretch a little, take a little more

Dying today, with a little something mourning

Getting over, everything half price when he told her

Shopping cart rolled in, load her down

Mean man pulling up in the lady barber

Three suns on Fulton, beef, pork, chicken, shrimp

Work is work, be smurt, said it only gets harder

Hardest working for your people, you be your own, send my regards

Keep the garbage out our garden

I scrub concrete with bleach water in kitchen whites

Wash my hands a thousand times a shift

Flip what's hid behind the pipes, it's only right

Name a price, body, mind, spirit

Feel it in your warmest void, behind and under

Tweed and Corduroy, looping moving pictures

Chicken backs and gizzards

Crack your skeleton, it's baby new year

Cross-town traffic, cop out on gates and green

Black derby, not Nate Dogg with the pinstripe, step light

Bay rum in the air, there's a word for that

I'ma yearn it back, there's a word for this (stretch a little, take a little more)

(Stretch a little, take a little more) tick at the door

I did it, mama! I did it, papa!

Avoiding hungers had a billion spots

Rolling stone moss, don't touch me like SoHo white folks whites when they wash

Or a colored Kente cloth

Your subgenre's DaVinci-core

These thoughts sound like pumpkin spice for equals

Stress got me at a height, smoking, pointing like grapeseed oil

Turn the soil, left to kick the dirt, but I'm way too loyal, way too cool

Gotta strip layers like working through nursing school

Second coming of nice, we Birth of Cool

We hula-hoop with the ring of fire these guys are jumping through, nothing new

Tears shed for the bucket of tuso

So fuck it, can't be stuffing dudes through

Zigzag ziggy, business as usual

Gang runs on numbers and liars, plug is for hire

Old bucks tryna get back on the track and youngins to buy up

Plus, most of these Yakubian products making dollars in the industry are simply DEI hires

If we keeping it funky fool, keep it a buck

What I expected him to be actually, was to be a militant, in the line of Malcolm X, or Martin Luther King, or-, or Garvey

And he was none of these things, he was simply a quiet, very conservative intellectual

And he fit in very well, he gets along very well with everybody there

Um, I never quite understood why I was having problems

Why I was smoking dope, why I was um, all this discontented blah-blah