Lyrics:
gets the grits? (Say what?) Bust it
I can tell another bout real grits getters
Gettin grits y'all (Say what?) Bust it, let a
Brother tell another
Sunday AFTERNOON
(Written by Bobby Brown, Derek "DOA" Allen, and Kenny Finnel)
Yeah, on the re-make ????? Sunday afternoon, yo
DOA, bring it to me,
the
Streets I lost my dad to
As a kid, Meek became acquainted with
Another of his dad's brothers
A pioneering local DJ known as Grandmaster
Nell if you were
can't let you down
HOOK
I know it kills you to see your brother's grave
But the same things that break a man can make another change
I'll stop thinking
the movies
Happiness I love it man I need to make another plan
Hang out with my brothers and puff up on a doobie
Clown up on them suckas when they hating
away
On my knees at night, I pray
That we will live another day
You always got something to say
I'm at the park, playin' ball with the children
Can't explain the way I felt
Too many years I seen my brothers die
And I can't say that shit was really that fly
But I used to gangbang when I was younger
Walker, Doobie
Lee Harvey Oswald shot by Jack Ruby
But who really shot JFK?
Man still trying to explore space
While climate change continues apace
Too many
dissin' me
Mom's grabbed me
And then she gets to kissin' me
She thanks the police for my good health
I don't know why
I coulda done that by my muthafuckin'
to just stroll the park with this Chaka
Baby girl was just diggin' all in my pockets (all in my pockets)
I was going hard (by the magic hour)
We were
police, we Park Hillians with gold geese
And everyday's a Sunday Easter
Cousins in Gaza, the new improved Shottas
Stretched out, mink on the floor, you
one by one
Troubles fade into the distance
The Doobie Brothers on the radio
Maura reads the weather for ya
Says, "New York City got another three
Smooth pimp brother
Who the bitches check for off top everyday
I’m still spitting that dope
Hit you like weed with
Coke and cigarette smoke
Bring your
a bit of a suffering
So faith I found comfort in
Served in Church on a Sunday
By Monday, I'm harbouring sins
Sunday come again, repent and repeat
roll
Rollin down the streets you might get jacked
By another brother ... why is that?
Critics always puttin' the blame on the gangs of society
It
black park it, guns
We spark it
Hit you in the back of your dome, from far
Kid dice kickers, gun clickers, run up
In the bank for ones, quick
The drug
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