Lyrics Death of A Salesman - People Under The Stairs

Death of A Salesman

Yo, I was chilling, lamping, cooling at the spot
When this light-skinned nigga with Tims told me he could rock
He told me his name and I think it started with a K
That’s exactly what happened after this day
I put that same letter after his name to end it off
So I coughed gave threw a pound and then I was off
Went around the corner where the homies was at
Told my nigga, Elad, pull went down, he handed me the…
Took about five pulls, yo, that shit was just right
He handed me about five Newports and I was off into the night
Stopped at the store and picked up a Big Gulp
When I saw this black Jeep pull up, it was my homie from the set
He told me heard from evil went down, so I hopped inside the loc
So we could head across town
Yo yo yo… Hey, Thes
What’s up, man?
What’s up?
We’re bumpin' at Unity tonight, man… I’ll just go in there and do this thing,
ain’t no need to stay…
Let’s be out
Stepped inside the place, stepped quiet as fuck
Stepped into a dark corner so fools wouldn’t know what’s up
Thes came over, said he saw him at the bar fronting like he was hard
But it was time to pull his card, so I stepped to this nigga
Look him dead in his face, was like «You's a disgrace to this race!»
Then I…
Wack MCs… wack MCs… (etc.)
Make me have to call your name out… (scratched and repeated)
It was a cold September morning, there was fog in the air
A pair of police proceeded ahead of a 21-car black caravan
Of cars and vans with headlights, testimony of dead night
My flashlight light the right way for me
I went early and climbed a tree, so I might see the show as it passed
The cars slow as they pass the PD-blocked intersection
Then gassed up the hill through the gate on the left
And slowed and showed moonlight reflections on the fresh-mown grass
Tombstones on tinted glass
The special pass sitting on the dashboard of a black Ford
In front stopped the cop and he opened the door
And out steps a man with flowers inside his grip
Squinting for the pig, Linden suit and wingtips
Out flew the rest and they rared to go, I hear no sounds
Just see lips moving and moonglow, so I and I, camouflaged
Slide down the tree, float across the road that’s like 30 feet wide
Beverly-Hills-style glide past the G-ride
See a rock at the end of the block, cop a squat
And watch men slide, an all-black box with gold rails
Tail-side, adorned with carnations in random configurations
Of player pride and herring bone, scales and other paraphernalia
Of a lifestyle that reflected but failure
The trails of fog leap of the back of the cab, passed it one-by-one
Dookie gold made it hard to hold
I had to laugh.
Oh, what fun when one dies
They walked toward the grave, the fog started to rise
Check the coffin… «hella tight»… put it on the hoist
And lower it deep, deeper into the moist earth
Last words of this man… I slipped into the night
And heard the fog…"Nigga had a hella tight car (?)
We’re dead nigga… He dead… (?)