Glue Traps

[Intro: billy woods] For a sip of cold water Do it all over [Verse 1: billy woods] Real money's whatever's in your pockets when you're broke 'Cause for that last twelve twenty-five, dog, you don't even wanna know (You don't) Prize fighter, past my prime, so it's gon' go how it go No dives, 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 profit a man to gain the whole world if he don't have time to gloat? All-whitе crowd? I laugh at life's little jokes Somе of y'all never got up at the crack of dawn to go to work for the low and it shows (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 [Verse 2: E L U C I D] Stretch a little, take a little more Stretch a little, take a little more Down today, with a little subtle mourning Getting over, everything half price what he told her Shopping cart rolled in, loaded down Meat man pulling up in the lady barber 3 Suns on Fulton, beef, pork, chicken, shrimp Work is work, he smirked, said it only gets harder Hardest working for your people, it be your own, send my regards Keep your 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, hop 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) No tickets at the door (Stretch a little, take a little more) No tickets at the door Down today [Verse 3: Quelle Chris] I did it, mama, I did it, pops Your boy done hung his hat a billion spots Rolling stone, moss don't touch me like soap on white folks' legs when they wash Or a colored Kente cloth Your subgenre's da Vinci-core These thoughts sound like pumpkin spice for D-boys Stress got me at a high smoking point, I'm like grapeseed oil Turning soil, left it caked in dirt, learnt I'm way too loyal, way too cool Gotta strip layers like working through nursing school Second coming of nice, rebirth of cool We hula hoop with the ring of fire these guys are jumping through, nothing new Tears shed for the bucket are two, so So fuck it, can't be stuck in neutral Zig, zag, 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, keep it a buck [Outro] What I expected him to be actually, was to be a militant In, in the line of Malcolm X, or, um, Martin Luther King, or, um, uh, Garvey And he was none of these things, he was simply a quiet, very conservative intellectual And he fit in very well, he got along very well with everybody there Um, I never quite understood why I was having problems Why are you smoking dope, why is, um, uh, all this discontented blah-blah?