Avantdale Bowling Club - Twenty Eight lyrics
[Avantdale Bowling Club - Twenty Eight lyrics]
Twenty-eight grams in an ounce, break it down
Sixteen ounces in a pound, double that
Round it up about ten thou
Once you take away the rent
Nothing left in the account
Add it up while I bag it up in the lounge
Next to my son watching cartoons on the couch
Round about four to five deep in an ounce
Hitting on about two to three years in a cell
But I'll be out in one
Wonder if I was brown
Would I get the same amount of
Time for the same amount?
It ain't hard to tell and
It ain't hard to sell
When everyone's the prince this
Shit sells it'self
Work a forty-hour week for a box and a pouch
Round about fifteen years on at Aucks
Small town about the size of a roundabout
Where the number one killer of
A man is himself the poor cooking meth
Rich cooking the accounts
In the rat race there ain't
No straight way out
Bout nine hundred thou for
A two-bedroom house
Thirteen million hectares stolen by the crown
It's a crime to sell a tree but
It's cool to sell a cow
If the banks fuck up the
Government will bail them out
I'll prolly go to jail for
Some shit that I dealt but it's cool
I'm just tryna raise some shit that I felt
Twenty-four hours in a day
Take away eight worth of work
What's that make? I finish 'round six
Tell the miss I'm on the way
But I'm late, doing twenty k on the motorway
By the time it take me to
Make it home it's half eight
Never even get to see the sun on my sons face
Six hours sleep to bed I lay awake
Trying to calculate how much left
I got to waste
The court case is two months away
Smoking two blunts a day
Been too drunk to drive shit
Been too much to take rolled a stub
And puff til my two lungs deflate
Like fuck it, I don't wanna do nothing today
But my son needs a change
And this shit doesn't change
Til you flush the chain ain't
No point just complaining
Friends that I wish were still with us today
For three words I thought I
Was too tough to say got twenty in the safe
Twelve beers in the case
So here's to the old place
Cheers to the days
Fucking round, counting grey hairs on my face
I got one of them for every
Wasted year on the ways
Haunted by the countless mistakes that I made
But it's said the real
Destination's the chase
Might end up in a cage tryna save for a place
This rat race is nothing but
A race to the grave, Bruv
Sixteen ounces in a pound, double that
Round it up about ten thou
Once you take away the rent
Nothing left in the account
Add it up while I bag it up in the lounge
Next to my son watching cartoons on the couch
Round about four to five deep in an ounce
Hitting on about two to three years in a cell
But I'll be out in one
Wonder if I was brown
Would I get the same amount of
Time for the same amount?
It ain't hard to tell and
It ain't hard to sell
When everyone's the prince this
Shit sells it'self
Work a forty-hour week for a box and a pouch
Round about fifteen years on at Aucks
Small town about the size of a roundabout
Where the number one killer of
A man is himself the poor cooking meth
Rich cooking the accounts
In the rat race there ain't
No straight way out
Bout nine hundred thou for
A two-bedroom house
Thirteen million hectares stolen by the crown
It's a crime to sell a tree but
It's cool to sell a cow
If the banks fuck up the
Government will bail them out
I'll prolly go to jail for
Some shit that I dealt but it's cool
I'm just tryna raise some shit that I felt
Twenty-four hours in a day
Take away eight worth of work
What's that make? I finish 'round six
Tell the miss I'm on the way
But I'm late, doing twenty k on the motorway
By the time it take me to
Make it home it's half eight
Never even get to see the sun on my sons face
Six hours sleep to bed I lay awake
Trying to calculate how much left
I got to waste
The court case is two months away
Smoking two blunts a day
Been too drunk to drive shit
Been too much to take rolled a stub
And puff til my two lungs deflate
Like fuck it, I don't wanna do nothing today
But my son needs a change
And this shit doesn't change
Til you flush the chain ain't
No point just complaining
Friends that I wish were still with us today
For three words I thought I
Was too tough to say got twenty in the safe
Twelve beers in the case
So here's to the old place
Cheers to the days
Fucking round, counting grey hairs on my face
I got one of them for every
Wasted year on the ways
Haunted by the countless mistakes that I made
But it's said the real
Destination's the chase
Might end up in a cage tryna save for a place
This rat race is nothing but
A race to the grave, Bruv