| Verse 1: Golden Boy
|
| You know I could jump from the buildings
|
| Balcony to fire escape, laundry line swinging high as apes from a
|
| Jungle vine
|
| Still it’s concrete we chill in small pieces, chug smuggled wine
|
| From a kind of grape I’ve never seen alive
|
| Drunk sitting in the skunk tinted summit of a high rise dump junk
|
| Just to see it plummet
|
| And spat to the streetside flat with a slight decline in where
|
| The street slide back to the sealine
|
| Provide feed for the rats like cigarette butts, beer caps and mere
|
| Scraps
|
| And shit all gets stuck, muck up in the iron grate get it plugged
|
| So the sun will only touch twice a day
|
| Underside beady eyes red, slime and feces combine where the needy
|
| Die
|
| Sleeping in a quiet dream
|
| Sirens in the night keep a kid awake screaming echo out of the drapes
|
| Closed admit artificial light
|
| Yellow shine peep it from the sky planes and it’s a grid
|
| Cause we made our lives into little shapes even
|
| Get the shakes, cold steps on linoleum late
|
| All alone again, schweppes and a oz of Puerto Rican
|
| Petroleum stains that glow green leaking through the snow flakes
|
| This is no place for a living being
|
| I live and breathe what the city is breeding and let it bleed into
|
| The beat when I’m spitting
|
| Hook: Coates
|
| It’s about time that i get at em
|
| The idle mind is a playground for the devil
|
| You tell them I’ma dishevel em
|
| The first words of a newfound rebellion
|
| Operation lights out slothetarians
|
| No word from the Marian
|
| Nothing is sweet when paychecks from the penthouse
|
| Mental house
|
| Operation cop chariot or you’re moving back to parental’s house
|
| Verse 2: Golden Boy
|
| Come wally season, smog and sunbeams dry the heat mirage seems
|
| To sweep off in the horizon
|
| Reach and swat flies with your hand up in the hammock
|
| Twice he comes strapped with the straw hat, sand from the beaches
|
| Bra strap bikini contact dance peaches
|
| Steaming whips jam up the traffic
|
| Scan for speed traps, cats with the cannabis weed passin a sack
|
| Hand to hand, the police absent
|
| East to west teens sit on the steps asking hey could you buy a case
|
| For me and my friend stranger
|
| Aging quickly they chill in the park, take swigs from the mickey and cough
|
| Liquor erase dreams
|
| In the moon bathed late at night satellites move across deep blue space
|
| As the planet lies dormant
|
| Once more I chase sheep through a warm wave keep
|
| The fan blades orbit for a faint breeze
|
| And the AC absorb it
|
| Skyscraper landscape in the same place it used to be a forest
|
| You learn swift ain’t nobody earn this existence and might as well piss it away
|
| Swimmin in a lake of bourbon and citrus mixed up in the surf
|
| With some bitches, searchin for the endless spring break
|
| Burn this, how can you return to the city and leave this lake
|
| Yo to live it is mercy
|
| Hook: Coates
|
| It’s about time that i get at em
|
| The idle mind is a playground for the devil
|
| You tell them I’ma dishevel em
|
| The first words of a newfound rebellion
|
| Operation lights out slothetarians
|
| No word from the Marian
|
| Nothing is sweet when paychecks from the penthouse
|
| Mental house
|
| Operation cop chariot or you’re moving back to parental’s house |