Lyrics:
told (Told)
I'm supposed to be locked up and dead, cold (Cold)
In the mind of an old (He cold) white man, the black man soul
Felt like I was born
got this shit locked (come on)
Is that a game or a joke? Say the name or get smoked
Simple as that, simple as black, to the throat (come on)
Hit 'em
better stay in line or I will sacrifice your life
Damn right, game tight, exterminate y'all out of spite
That's what white privilege sounds like
Ain't
linen by Armani, check it
My lyrical carjack, make your brains splat
High caliber gats is all I fuck with, now peep the rough shit
in my circumference,
extra large, in charge, Your bars are medium
This beats the spice of life to strike the strife and tedium
I'll roast you vegetables alive, the temp 425
Fucked this white bitch in the office, got fired from work
Nine-to-five, government high taxes, police dispatches
Pure accretive attackin' black Asiatics
experienced confusion 'bout what he said
Together with nausea from our weightless condition
For though black holes were mentioned in comics we'd read
We didn't
Yeah
Argh
I don't see no limit aye
Life may be black or white or grey
Who you tryna imitate
I'ma just be myself
Any time and any day
Put em haters in
tryna walk this land without getting shot
They say they on my side but I can see the plot
Yo it's natural to hold my life in line
As I walk through
a kiss
Eyes fixated with the familiar shape
Black label, white letters, they integrate
Cubans in the bar room with harpoons
I bloom in the night fog like
and scheme
You turn my life to a black&white theme
Constantly feeling the opposite of supreme
Wanting my self to redeem
But the only thing I can do is daydream
credit score dropping
He don't care cuz them young hoes think he poppin
Welcome to the mind of a young black man
Raised in the jungle we don't
waters
All of life's abundance in a drop of condensation
Dip your hand in Heaven's waters
I, I have my reasons to doubt
The white light eases
Red Chip Funk
Performed by Twenty-something DJ Franklin
Lyrics and arrangement by Raymond Francisco Quinton
Produced by Rabid City Records
(C)
Someone who stays high
High
Watching their life go by
By, by
Someone content with riding behind
Ride that
Nigga
They come in all colors
White
slow and get your arm caught in that bar
My mind tricks is that I'm Jedi by birth
Christmas Eve is when my mama blessed earth
What's the universal tone
Oh no
The next days after fun in track 3
I was on Twitter, "Something's bothering me"
A couple more black men shot down
In separate cities, it
me and you kiss-kiss
Geeked out my mind, pourin' fours in a Sunkist
Bop, bop (woo)
Sippin' on Wock'
Opp niggas get popped
Pay a shooter with
already know, Gimme the lighter; we can spark it up one time, No Desiigner; panda drip when I thrift mine, Black and white; Imma keep it simple, You know I
threes
Life is short is what some nigga said
Not if you measure life by how one lives and what he did
It's funny how these black killer companies is making
taking human life
Clouds go by children run
Gulls do nosedives in the sun
Water falling from a spout
Into wanting thirsty mouths
Black sun came
a kiss
Eyes fixated with the familiar shape
Black label, white letters, they integrate
Cubans in the bar room with harpoons
I bloom in the night fog like
fuck the crossroads
In this world my flow is another lost soul
My shit sounds like shots from a four pound
For these bitch clowns it's war now
It's
Yeah the Graveyard back, yeah
Black Rain
(Mixed by) Graveyard pack
Jail house crowded
Black rain, black rain
Jail house pack
Graveyard crowded
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