Lyrics Dead Money - Armand Hammer

Dead Money

They can’t bounce on that Marx and Engels
Get back ounce smooth Charles Rangel striking his bangles
Pockets got that Bobby Jindal jangle
Still say «I don’t got it» to Mr. Wendal
Raise the shirt colostomy bag strapped
That’ll get you a dollar where I live at
Bush weed and a feeling, I’m bringing New York back
Cardboard box, laid flat, spinning on his back
Show time, show time!
Street’s a yoga mat
Warrior pose at shows, free artisanal Negro flows, you won’t see up the street
Back stage roasting leeks, serving quiche lorraine
Nod politely to sample based beats peaked game
Nigerian chamber commerce wore it on the mantle piece
Were past the kill but can’t reach
Won’t move, don’t care
Slow week, old news, new scares, cold feet, hot shoe electric chair hair
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back, too close to crack
glass water
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back, too close to crack
glass water
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back, too close to crack
glass water
Open swim, circling fins, drawer full of grenade pins
Grin like the lightskinned of rich tan white men
The lost Pouncey Twin, uh- triplet
Show up at your baby mother’s like hold this biscuit
Yup
He ain’t about shit, the roach clip hiss
Hawk, spit, kung-fu grip, black Farah Fawcett
Even beat she was gorgeous as she pass mother’s on porches
Wolf whistles on corners
Mangosuthu Buthelezi blow smoke in Mandela’s face like «fuck you, pay me»
Rap hands reiki, dash cam grainy, enter sandman
I did that Hammer dance looking for a wire but it was happenstance
Shoulders shrug, cold as studio thug over dubs
They found a piece in some shrubs
Microscopic droplets of blood
If God made the world, Motherfucker was wearing gloves
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back, too close to crack
glass water
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back, too close to crack
glass water
One man’s revolution is another man’s rhetoric
And my semi-slurred syntax isn’t a clear indicator of my intelligence
Yours either.
Radiant child, furious style, synthesize a divinity sound
Improvise my eyes reflect
Never face like Herman Blount, then heavy foliage
Joyful noise, blacksmiths in the brightest void
Built to destroy, not self-destruct
There’s a time and place to not give a fuck
But right now seems so critical
I wanna see everyone who’s been made invisible
Murmured voices leaving my ad-libs
In a house where sadness and wrath live
No room for rent, money came, money went
Her honeyed gaze cut like a dagger
Through open flesh at the heart of the matter
She put me on game but didn’t have to
I came like thunderclap followed by uncontrollable laughter
Life’s ill, spin the wheel, big buck, no whammy, t-shirt sam
My VANs still sandy me somewhere far from home
When you look up night sky
Like «is this the same one I know back in NY?»
Wise as a serpent, no compromising these verses
Work song, honest toil as the day is long
Word to my mommy, to the question «why?»
It’s at the end of a belt she replied
You’ll get that when you get it
I don’t move if I don’t feel it in my spirit
A lyric ain’t a lyric til I spit it