| «Hi, hahahahaha, the first thing I have to tell you is this
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| This city was made from the original music
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| It is not a counterfeit, this is the real one
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| This one is true, this one is real»
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| Yeah, William Cosby sweaters
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| There’s only one thing better than cheddar
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| If life is a puzzle, I put it together
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| I’m like DMC, my Run Tougher Than Leather
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| I come from an era of golf hats
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| Ball caps, pimp hats with feathers
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| Plaid slacks with the button-up jackets to match
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| I blast at any knucklehead fucking with rap
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| I got to chuckle at that, rap black belt
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| Motherfucker but the buckle is back
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| Pro-rap, what you wanna do? |
| Nothing with that
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| You suck like a ho on figaro and you wack
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| Niggas know it and they talk to your back
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| Behind closed doors and get a good laugh
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| Like that factory that niggas in rap
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| Your name ain’t Seinfield if you black
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| My clientele sell more than the crack that Reagan let in
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| Fuck your Meagan Good friend at the Holiday Inn
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| She look like her twin
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| One thing’s for certain, two things for sure
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| No where to work and, no way to grow
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| A crazy place, we all praying for the best of times
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| Ohh yeah, yea-yeah-eaah
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| My mind is like a piecebook
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| I can’t get no peace wherever I look
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| My own worst enemy, even the evil get shook
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| For the violence, the fans turn finicky
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| Silly of me to think that I
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| Could untie that ribbon in the sky
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| Senior citizens in line
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| The end sure isn’t as pure to require that same sugar high
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| Rely on religion if your heart’s missing
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| It won’t work, certain it’s all written
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| Emerge, make 'em all listen
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| Some rehearse them devilish words and put the hurt in 'em
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| I mean put the hurting on 'em, with or without warning
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| Been a whole year, shed a tear for him
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| A year since I heard from him
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| I don’t care, I know where I’m going
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| One thing’s for certain, two things for sure
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| No where to work and, no way to grow
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| A crazy place, we all praying for the best of times
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| Ohh yeah, yea-yeah-eaah
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| Yo, everybody got the blues and it’s evident
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| Got workers losing they jobs and they residence
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| And overseas niggas filing out
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| Straight wilding out, tossing they shoes at the president
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| It make me think about the loot that I shell out
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| If times get tight will the show still sell out?
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| Po' folk need help, they call it welfare
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| When rich folk need it, then y’all call it a bail out
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| It make me wanna yell out, but I just chill
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| Because the love for my fam is priceless
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| Long as I got them we’ll be able to fight this
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| Cause nigga I’m black, I was born in a financial crisis, shit!
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| So no eulogies, and no two-to-threes
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| I’ll survive cause being broke ain’t new to me
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| New opportunities and ways to grind
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| Respect your mind and celebrate the best of times
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| Now let’s ride
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| One thing’s for certain, two things for sure
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| No where to work and, no way to grow
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| A crazy place, we all praying for the best of times
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| Ohh yeah, yea-yeah-eaah
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| Good times, good times |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Best of Times, artist - Strong Arm Steady. Album song In Search Of Stoney Jackson, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп