Lyrics All the Cash - Evil Nine, El-P

All the Cash

Born in love with a bloodline punch
And a time release that the capsule held so strange
Wore a target of a frontline punch
And a crime exceeding of absolute rage
Rode a train in a blood clot vein
Where the names of the young were hung in our face
Saw the wrong and withstand the tug
Of my fees the reason, a big mistake
Bore a likeness of those before him
Who held the title in flesh and name
Said hello and then said goodbye
And in between he would plead his case
Saw the dark and embraced the light
And he felt the crawl of his calling fate
Stuck the landing but tripped the wire
And let every weapon off in his face
Saw the looting and convoluting
Of absolution that never came
Tried polluting with contribution
And held the movement in every frame
More of the withering, unforgiving
And run to the last grand contraband
Caught the harm and then bought the farm
And that’s the part where I come in
But all the cash and all the cash
And all the cash and all the cash
In the world can’t pay me to
Let go of you (go of you)
And all the death and all the death
And all the death and all the death
They dealt don’t change the way
I fell for you (fell for you)
Try to take it, oh you can’t
Pry it out my cold dead hand
Pry it out my cold dead hand
Born in love with a bloodline punch
And a time release that the capsule held so cold
Wore a shrug of a one-time fuck
In a clear mistake, well that’s great, lets go
Rode a train in a blood clot vein
Where the eyes of men caress head, chest, toe
Saw the rug and withstand the tug
Of our absent love, well who the fuck knows
Bore a likeness of those before
Who held the title in flesh not name
Said hello and then said goodbye
And in between she would sit and wait
Saw the light but embraced the dark
As she heard the call of her crawling hate
«Fuck the landing, I’ll man the weapons
And hold the barrel to my own fate»
Saw the promise and felt the presence
Of possibility, just not her’s
Tried connecting with lost affection
And saw direction with lust not words
More of the withering, unforgiving
And bad to the last drop, Brooklyn birds
Fill the weapon and spin the chamber
And bend the part and are not hurt