Twenty Eight

Twenty-eight grams in an ounce, break it down

Sixteen ounces in a pound, double that

Round it up about ten thou

Once you take away the rent nothing left in the account

Add it up while I bag it up in the lounge

Next to my son watching cartoons on the couch

Round about four to five deep in an ounce

Hitting on about two to three years in a cell

But I'll be out in one, wonder if I was brown

Would I get the same amount of time for the same amount?

It ain't hard to tell and it ain't hard to sell

When everyone's depressed this shit sells itself

Work a forty-hour week for a box and a pouch

Round about fifteen years on at Aucks

Small town about the size of a roundabout

Where the number one killer of a man is himself

The poor cooking meth, rich cooking the accounts

In the rat race there ain't no straight way out

Bout nine hundred thou for a two-bedroom house

Thirteen million hectares stolen by the crown

It's a crime to sell a tree but it's cool to sell a cow

If the banks fuck up the government will bail them out

I'll prolly go to jail for some shit that I dealt

But it's cool, I'm just tryna raise some shit that I felt

Twenty-four hours in a day

Take away eight worth of work, what's that make?

I finish 'round six, tell the miss I'm on the way

But I'm late, doing twenty k on the motorway

By the time it take me to make it home it's half eight

Never even get to see the sun on my sons face

Six hours sleep to bed I lay awake

Trying to calculate how much left I got to waste

The court case is two months away, smoking two blunts a day

Been too drunk to drive shit been too much to take

Rolled a stub, and puff til my two lungs deflate

Like fuck it, I don't wanna do nothing today

But my son needs a change and this shit doesn't change

Til you flush the chain ain't no point just complaining

Friends that I wish were still with us today

For three words I thought I was too tough to say

Got twenty in the safe, twelve beers in the case

So here's to the old place, cheers to the days

Fucking round, counting grey hairs on my face

I got one of them for every wasted year on the ways

Haunted by the countless mistakes that I made

But it's said the real destination's the chase

Might end up in a cage tryna save for a place

This rat race is nothing but a race to the grave, bruv