KMD - Mr. Hood At Piocallee Jewelry / Crackpot lyrics
[KMD - Mr. Hood At Piocallee Jewelry / Crackpot lyrics]
Let's enter this jewelry shop
This reminds me of the days
Of dwelling with those
Who killed off the weak for
Fancy clothes and hoes too
Not opposed to the picket fence dream
But both lie on the same side of the gate
It seems that it's all coming back to me now
Yeah umm uhh I figured it
Was about two summers ago
No jokin', no one-eyed winkin'
It was uh Crackpot, yeah Crackpot Jenkins
I first met Crackpot in like Head Starts
Since then I knew he wasn't too head smart
As I scribbled in art he insisted
On standing in the sandbox
To collect unknown amounts of pebbles
And stones to throw rocks
"It's in the wrists"
He said when telling me
In early physics lessons
Two atoms can't occupy the same
Space at the same time
Acknowledged by the playground's bully Wesson
Who felt Pot's rock then cracked Pot's face
Considering his aim
I warned he could hurt others with his game
Miss Creissman warned the same
Although, he didn't care, did he
’cause in a decade and one year
He continued to throw rocks for a career
Paid and more paid as he pelt rocks felt by
Every brother in brown with whom he dealt
One more rock thrown, ah shoot
Under the ground was a boy in a blue suit
Still a lot of rock throwing
Going on up the block
But a pocket full of pebbles
What locked up Crackpot
Should've used his wrists for
The cut like Subroc
Maybe then he'd have avoided
The common phony jackpot yeah, phony jackpot
(If you or I could see this individual
We might call him an impractical dreamer
Or a crackpot)
(Would you have seen the
Scientific, intellectual, creative genius
In a small ragged negro boy?)
This reminds me of the days
Of dwelling with those
Who killed off the weak for
Fancy clothes and hoes too
Not opposed to the picket fence dream
But both lie on the same side of the gate
It seems that it's all coming back to me now
Yeah umm uhh I figured it
Was about two summers ago
No jokin', no one-eyed winkin'
It was uh Crackpot, yeah Crackpot Jenkins
I first met Crackpot in like Head Starts
Since then I knew he wasn't too head smart
As I scribbled in art he insisted
On standing in the sandbox
To collect unknown amounts of pebbles
And stones to throw rocks
"It's in the wrists"
He said when telling me
In early physics lessons
Two atoms can't occupy the same
Space at the same time
Acknowledged by the playground's bully Wesson
Who felt Pot's rock then cracked Pot's face
Considering his aim
I warned he could hurt others with his game
Miss Creissman warned the same
Although, he didn't care, did he
’cause in a decade and one year
He continued to throw rocks for a career
Paid and more paid as he pelt rocks felt by
Every brother in brown with whom he dealt
One more rock thrown, ah shoot
Under the ground was a boy in a blue suit
Still a lot of rock throwing
Going on up the block
But a pocket full of pebbles
What locked up Crackpot
Should've used his wrists for
The cut like Subroc
Maybe then he'd have avoided
The common phony jackpot yeah, phony jackpot
(If you or I could see this individual
We might call him an impractical dreamer
Or a crackpot)
(Would you have seen the
Scientific, intellectual, creative genius
In a small ragged negro boy?)