Lyrics Sunday's Best - Black Milk

Sunday's Best

Ayo, rise in the AM
early morning laying, I just wanna stay in
I just wanna lay in
pops like «get your ass up, stop the faking»
«We already late, and .»
Sunday morning waking, faking like my stomach’s aching
Moms pull out clothes just for Sunday’s best occasion
Bowtie, no lie, church shoes was aching
80-degree weather in a blazer, body blazing
Already can’t wait until this day end
Just a little nigga that would rather be home video-gaming
Now we on our way in — deacon speaking
Preacher preaching to that congregation, mason
(mason… mason)
Minds wandering off, not hearing that man of the cloth
Talk about that man on the cross
Now we back to praying
Old ladies with church fans screaming out «amen»
Looking at that painting on the stained glass
Watching while that collection plate pass
Tithes, offering, to me it’s all the same cash
Fast forward, got older
a younging that’s gone bad
Let me rephrase that, a younging that went down that wrong path
No matter how religious moms or pops was
Still had encounters with the cops
(I was young)
Product of that environment I was in
Once I left that front door, I could have been out of here
Bullets flying is the norm, so most kids walk without a fear
Friends dying is the norm, so they walk without a tear
Rather tat it on their face — to who’s?
Wait
While the old head is yellin' «it's never too late»
Too late, too late, too late, too late
Too late, too late, too late, too late
Too late, too late, too late, too late
Too late, too late, too late, too late
Too late, too late, too late, too late
Too late, too late, too late, too late