billy woods - Scales lyrics
[billy woods - Scales lyrics]
Who gon' take the weight for all the
Shit in the trunk of that car?
No justice, no peace
People filled the streets many a fine speech
When that die down, still you and the police
Murder-by-numbers, one, two, three
Better have you a piece
Better have you a college degree
Better move where there don't be sweeps
Never gon' be what you want it to be
It is what it is
Brutus slid the shiv 'tween Julius' ribs
Two types of people in the world, kid
Those with loaded guns and those who dig
Rhetorical question: Can I Live?
Found the place of your final resting
Danced a jig fiddle under my chin
Pirouette spin in a pair of Timbs
Heard 'em on the stairs, pulled the pin
Either which way they comin' in
Might as well go for the win
We all got it coming smoothed her skirt
Made sure her shirt's buttoned
We said nothing, what would you say?
Never told her husband
Just sautéed the onions
A Good Man is Hard to Find
Fruit of the poison vine
Gin and tonic with the lime rind
Kept that balance
Another bottle of wine, accept that challenge
Use untruths to fill that silence
Kids in they rooms listenin' to
Nullified nihilists spill
Stylish ultraviolence
Credit to his race who gives
Credit to his stylist
Boss said "Any questions?"
I said "Where's Wallace?"
("Where the fuck is Wallace?")
"Huh? String, where the fuck is Wallace?"
("Huh? String string look at me look
At me! Where the fuck
Is Wallace? Huh?! I don't want
This Payless wearing
Motherfucker representing
Me i'ma get my own man
Alright? So just get back
In your car and get the
Fuck back down south"
"Alright you stupid motherfucker you
Made your decision")
Shit in the trunk of that car?
No justice, no peace
People filled the streets many a fine speech
When that die down, still you and the police
Murder-by-numbers, one, two, three
Better have you a piece
Better have you a college degree
Better move where there don't be sweeps
Never gon' be what you want it to be
It is what it is
Brutus slid the shiv 'tween Julius' ribs
Two types of people in the world, kid
Those with loaded guns and those who dig
Rhetorical question: Can I Live?
Found the place of your final resting
Danced a jig fiddle under my chin
Pirouette spin in a pair of Timbs
Heard 'em on the stairs, pulled the pin
Either which way they comin' in
Might as well go for the win
We all got it coming smoothed her skirt
Made sure her shirt's buttoned
We said nothing, what would you say?
Never told her husband
Just sautéed the onions
A Good Man is Hard to Find
Fruit of the poison vine
Gin and tonic with the lime rind
Kept that balance
Another bottle of wine, accept that challenge
Use untruths to fill that silence
Kids in they rooms listenin' to
Nullified nihilists spill
Stylish ultraviolence
Credit to his race who gives
Credit to his stylist
Boss said "Any questions?"
I said "Where's Wallace?"
("Where the fuck is Wallace?")
"Huh? String, where the fuck is Wallace?"
("Huh? String string look at me look
At me! Where the fuck
Is Wallace? Huh?! I don't want
This Payless wearing
Motherfucker representing
Me i'ma get my own man
Alright? So just get back
In your car and get the
Fuck back down south"
"Alright you stupid motherfucker you
Made your decision")