Earthtone III - Dey Bishop - Gauze & Bandages lyrics
Like a broke kid attending college cla**es/ I give top rhyming to the minds of the ma**es/ Got the mind of pac in the lobby, with Gandhi's guidance to guide me My drive for rhyming got me wildin, bodying cla**ics/ Silence, I'm not fine with you making music, this is me, son/ Our goals are different, you're tryna film a movie with groupies inside a Jacuzzi, rock Gucci on a weed run/ I'm tryna get dollars, divide the booty like a threesome/ Me and my people tryna eat, son/ Believe him, I'm from where a kid'll stick you quick for loose change/ Don't matter your son is watching, they run up, a gun is co*king, to run your pockets just a bit quicker than Usain/ Your mother strickened with new pain/ Dutch stickers ripped, your brothers fill a swisher with new strains but today/ I'm tryna tell you, you can make it with your pa**ion/ Better than blazing haze, no escaping from the trapping/ Never thought that hip hop would take it this far But now I'm gracing stages from NJ to playing down in Dallas/ And nothing's handed, this is real work/ Crafting songs you only make if you feel hurt/ I mean real hurt, hurting for a meal hurt/ See your aunt at your dad's wake high on pills hurt/ Couple of dutches like f** it, get drunker than double the skunks, just so I don't feel hurt/ Wake up, wonder the f** is up, cut it, numbing is dumb and even after the numbing you will still hurt/ You can feel this is real hurt/ And money can't fix the scars and damages/ That my upbringing brought, music's my gauze and bandages/ I'm tryna give you more than all that lavish sh**/ More than cars parking, acting barbaric at bars, star status sh**/ Never that/ That ain't real anybody who say different is too p**y like a pair of cats/ s**er, let us act/ Cause all we got is each other, my brother, please, be aware of that/ City blocks got the drama lit/ Mommas sit as the drama's popping, whether you buy Prada or your pockets gotta lotta lint/ Violent sh**, sirens surround the town, everybody quiet or out of it/ Flies flying out wallets, problems like Wallace big/ Do these kids got llamas? Does McDonald got condiments?/ While writer's got writers block, My cuz right on a rider's block, and riding, sick/ Prolly popping a Glock to a copper, then get locked in Rikers and be proud of it/ Wonder how my loud is lit/ Stressed with suicidal thoughts/ Prolly k** myself 'fore I own suicidal doors/ But, y'all bloods**ers need to cut with the act/ Puff a blunt of something, touch me and you f**ing with crack/ Never busting a gat/ Think Marty McFly shoes, cause I, kick it tight without touching a strap/ No one as sick as he/ Diss he pick up his trigger speed/ Clicking quicker than wiz is fixing indiga hitting trees/ Casted out, puffing loud at parks/ I was an Outkast with a sound to spark/ Before I was a big boy around clowns and narcs/ Where they ski mask for 3 stacks, the town is dark/ And poverty stricken/ Where the devil's possibly hidden/ You better peddle cause debt ain't settled with lottery tickets/ Though momma be getting, every scratch-off she can grab/ With the hopes of cash, dog, to blast off from the past/ But that's life is a tethered region/ My momma pocket and wallet had better seasons/ So I'll get her that cheddar whether the weather's freezing I'm in leather padded with pleather in a set of sweaters sneezing/ Shaking, making space jams/ I'm Jordan at the half court, no, I'm Leo with a pa**port, catch me if you can/