Spose - The Art of Storytelling, Part 2 lyrics
[Spose - The Art of Storytelling, Part 2 lyrics]
Let me take you to the corner of the game
Where the sinners all win and
The saints feel pain
Where there's no umbrella in the rain
Where there's no umbrella in the rain
Let me take you to the corner of the game
Where the sinners all win and
The saints feel pain
Where there's no umbrella in the rain
Where there's no umbrella in the rain
Meanwhile, nearby on the almanac
Two stoners, John and Pat, parked the Hyundai
Next to Subway and the laundromat
Stepping out the whip
With weed smoke, fog enveloped both kids
Baggy pants, long haired D bags
Reached in the JanSport
Pulled out the ski masks
Xbox and pop were their enjoyment
But since John got fired
Neither had employment
And all their homies were going to Montreal
To get drunk and go to strip clubs
They wanna be involved
But, dollars, they got like nine combined
And they had dabbled in crime
From time to time
It had started out small but in
The end it was mean
At first they were breaking
Into vending machines
But then they graduated to the
Crime they're 'bout to commit
And they pulled the stolen blue
Bike out of the whip they got drunk
Playing Call of Duty till the break of dawn
And they had stolen it at 3
AM up off their neighbor's lawn
It was a piece of cake, time to seize the day
And they knew the jackpot's
A thousand feet away
You see John had worked at Hannaford's
And he got caught on camera
Stealing, by his manager but
He wasn't no amateur
He saw what time they took their money
Over to the Bank of America
So they timed their arrival for reprisals
Sure enough, four on the dot
The blue envelope with the zipper on top
In the hand of hers, stepped out of Hannaford
The one who fired John, that bitch manager
Pat peddled to the bank spot
With the license plate below the
Seat still labeled "TANKGOD"
He rolled on her, before she could react
And said
"Give me the money!" in a Bulgarian accent
She tried to run but he
Was quick with the grip
Grabbed her arm, pulled a knife, said
"Do you want to die bitch?" she didn't
She pulled the envelope and sprinted
Saw the blue bike with the
Inscription up in her vision
And she called it in
And she reported it fast
She was shaking in her boots
According to Pat
He went back to the Hyundai
Threw the bike in the trunk
They drove off in the sun rays, laughing
John drove fast, Pat counted the loot
It was $6000, the amount of it too
Then they got some new water
To put in the bong
And left the bike and the empty
Envelope back on the foreigner's lawn
And went to fucking Canada
And never got caught, ever
Where the sinners all win and
The saints feel pain
Where there's no umbrella in the rain
Where there's no umbrella in the rain
Let me take you to the corner of the game
Where the sinners all win and
The saints feel pain
Where there's no umbrella in the rain
Where there's no umbrella in the rain
Meanwhile, nearby on the almanac
Two stoners, John and Pat, parked the Hyundai
Next to Subway and the laundromat
Stepping out the whip
With weed smoke, fog enveloped both kids
Baggy pants, long haired D bags
Reached in the JanSport
Pulled out the ski masks
Xbox and pop were their enjoyment
But since John got fired
Neither had employment
And all their homies were going to Montreal
To get drunk and go to strip clubs
They wanna be involved
But, dollars, they got like nine combined
And they had dabbled in crime
From time to time
It had started out small but in
The end it was mean
At first they were breaking
Into vending machines
But then they graduated to the
Crime they're 'bout to commit
And they pulled the stolen blue
Bike out of the whip they got drunk
Playing Call of Duty till the break of dawn
And they had stolen it at 3
AM up off their neighbor's lawn
It was a piece of cake, time to seize the day
And they knew the jackpot's
A thousand feet away
You see John had worked at Hannaford's
And he got caught on camera
Stealing, by his manager but
He wasn't no amateur
He saw what time they took their money
Over to the Bank of America
So they timed their arrival for reprisals
Sure enough, four on the dot
The blue envelope with the zipper on top
In the hand of hers, stepped out of Hannaford
The one who fired John, that bitch manager
Pat peddled to the bank spot
With the license plate below the
Seat still labeled "TANKGOD"
He rolled on her, before she could react
And said
"Give me the money!" in a Bulgarian accent
She tried to run but he
Was quick with the grip
Grabbed her arm, pulled a knife, said
"Do you want to die bitch?" she didn't
She pulled the envelope and sprinted
Saw the blue bike with the
Inscription up in her vision
And she called it in
And she reported it fast
She was shaking in her boots
According to Pat
He went back to the Hyundai
Threw the bike in the trunk
They drove off in the sun rays, laughing
John drove fast, Pat counted the loot
It was $6000, the amount of it too
Then they got some new water
To put in the bong
And left the bike and the empty
Envelope back on the foreigner's lawn
And went to fucking Canada
And never got caught, ever