Glue Traps (Feat. Quelle Chris) (Feat. Quelle Chris)

For a sip of cold water
'Til it all over

Real money's whatever's in your pockets when you're broke
'Cause for that last $12.25, dog, you don't even want to know
Don't prizefighter past my prime, shit's gone go how it go
No dive though, this deep water, can't just hop out the boat
Haram on the shirt, damn right, I want that pig smoked
If it's good work, only need a couple tokes
Recidivist, never gave up hope that we could move that dope
Hold up, let me pull your coat
What'll profit a man to gain the whole world if he ain't got time to gloat?

All-white crowd? I laugh at life's little jokes
Some of y'all never got up at the crack of dawn to go to work for the low, and it show (good for you, though)
It's hard to get out of bed when there's glue traps behind the stove
Bulldozers in the olive grove, soldiers switching to civilian clothes
Every story tell a story that's already been told
Everything's dead and gone, we only had the name of the road

Stretch a little, take a little more
Stretch a little, take a little more
Dying today, with a little something mourning
Getting over, everything half price when he told her
Shopping cart rolled in, load her down
Mean man pulling up in the lady barber
Three suns on Fulton, beef, pork, chicken, shrimp
Work is work, be smurt, said it only gets harder

Hardest working for your people, you be your own, send my regards
Keep the garbage out our garden
I scrub concrete with bleach water in kitchen whites
Wash my hands a thousand times a shift
Flip what's hid behind the pipes, it's only right
Name a price, body, mind, spirit
Feel it in your warmest void, behind and under
Tweed and Corduroy, looping moving pictures

Chicken backs and gizzards
Crack your skeleton, it's baby new year
Cross-town traffic, cop out on gates and green
Black derby, not Nate Dogg with the pinstripe, step light
Bay rum in the air, there's a word for that
I'ma yearn it back, there's a word for this (stretch a little, take a little more)
(Stretch a little, take a little more) tick at the door

I did it, mama! I did it, papa!
Avoiding hungers had a billion spots
Rolling stone moss, don't touch me like SoHo white folks whites when they wash
Or a colored Kente cloth
Your subgenre's DaVinci-core
These thoughts sound like pumpkin spice for equals
Stress got me at a height, smoking, pointing like grapeseed oil
Turn the soil, left to kick the dirt, but I'm way too loyal, way too cool
Gotta strip layers like working through nursing school

Second coming of nice, we Birth of Cool
We hula-hoop with the ring of fire these guys are jumping through, nothing new
Tears shed for the bucket of tuso
So fuck it, can't be stuffing dudes through
Zigzag ziggy, business as usual
Gang runs on numbers and liars, plug is for hire
Old bucks tryna get back on the track and youngins to buy up
Plus, most of these Yakubian products making dollars in the industry are simply DEI hires
If we keeping it funky fool, keep it a buck

What I expected him to be actually, was to be a militant, in the line of Malcolm X, or Martin Luther King, or-, or Garvey
And he was none of these things, he was simply a quiet, very conservative intellectual
And he fit in very well, he gets along very well with everybody there
Um, I never quite understood why I was having problems
Why I was smoking dope, why I was um, all this discontented blah-blah