Lyrics Bless Up - Homeboy Sandman

Bless Up

Word indeed
True indeed
Yes indeed
With all certainty
Definitely
Definitively
I’m from the era of team sports and jean shorts
Ain’t no need to wonder if I’m reinforced
I spend them funds to be in floors
New NYC, Sand’s finished
Yeah right homie, enjoy them fifteen minutes
For all my real heads that been down, bless up
You won’t find me using NYC for playing dress-up
Before press, vote for respect when cats pressed up
Dwight here caught a bottle on the F, it was F’ed up
I grew up choosing a rhyme
And then rewinding it
Not sure if I’m losing my mind
Or if I’m finding it
This brother wanna hear the slow Sand shit
This brother wanna hear the fast Sand shit
This sister wanna hear the first Sand shit
This sister wanna hear the last Sand shit
Me, I’m tryna write the new Sand shit
And all the time I’m tryna write the true Sand shit
Understand these other cats are just saying shit
We ain’t even in the same boat, not in the same ship
All I’m saying is I be slaying shit
I’s a brother swimming back to Africa after jumping off the slave ship
So don’t talk to me bout swimming with sharks
Thank your lucky stars it don’t even start
Wonder if imma have to buy the farm
For people get to buying the art
All I make is hits but still can’t hit the side of a barn
Broke the sanctity of reflex down three steps
On a park bench reading Moby Dick in-between sets
I never made it to greek fest to freaknik
I be mostly with a sweet chick on some sweet shit
As of recent, I dabbled in more indecent
Yo I ain’t tryna buy I’m tryna lease it
Or even tryna rent though technically yes I’d rather join ride it
Unless I peep an oil liden
I’m moving near sighted prefer to crash and hate to be invited, word up
Feel so good, like being reunited
Been tempted to put a minor on to my d***
Yo I’m just keeping it funky, the legal age out in Canada is comfy
My female pursuit is something like my soup, I like em chunky
Live day to day, but I still prefer a weekly or a monthly
I turned down (…)
To change it every meal, everyday for a leap year
But money, molly, fashion, murder rap is straight infant
Does anyone besides me have the balls of being different
I know I’m on Babylon hit-list, that’s why I keep my number unlisted
Everyone with known math, hoping on tracks, no mission
Bunch of acting like, no vision
But take a listen, How nice to separate the lies from admissions
I bet you’ll find its worth the price of admission