Super Chron Flight Brothers - Bob Hope lyrics

I’m sitting in my seat
Pondering all these sources, Spinning
Through my head
Trying to make the right decision
Not winning yet, not yet
Getting it like I’m trying to be having it
Cut life like the proverbial "it
" you take a stab at ‘em

Serrated side slicing cheeseburger bison
For meat that tender they
Murdered old man Tyson
Met the Mrs, mangled her muff
Mashed her hymen
Strung intestines on their shoulder as
They claim artistic license
Martyrs silence taking place (shhhh)
Spark flies, deceit and rage
They walk away with the guns of
Their kids like we don’t play
I see potential IEDs all around me
Sons you’ll see the barrel of this
Gun 'til I see safety
And if I have to bust your
Face it’s fuck your face
I do what my CO says, forget Dead Prez
My boss is the real one
You got bars and mics I’m
Holding stars and stripes
Around your neck, ‘til you’re seeing lights
At the end of tunnels, colored white
Another wasted night
Another temple's thieved
Some more lambs bread, a log's bottom leaf
I said

And let me assure you
Parishioners that today is
Indeed a difficult day to be your pastor
As we observe the funeral of yet
Another of our community’s black men
And on a day like today
One is tempted to ask
"Where was God? Where is hope?"
Well brother Whetstone
I assure you you will not find
Hope in the g-string of
Your favorite stripper at the penthouse
Club at 2311 Georgia Avenue sister Wear
I assure you hope will not
Come on immediately following
The Young & The Restless on Thursday mornings

And brother Mercy
I see you in the back there hope
Is not something you are gonna
Find at the bottom of that 22
Ounce bottle of malt liquor beer
And as for you brother Woods, I
Assure you try as you might
You will never balance hope on
Your triple beam scale

She ain’t returning calls
I think I’m getting boomerang
I ain’t stupid dog but it ain’t
Hit me ‘til the gavel rang (bang bang)
Slip up and be behind those walls
Continents of dirt and grime
Put in work like Kalashnikov
Crime and Punishment, I took it as a job
Raskolnikov put through the time
You could say he dropped a dime
Or better yet a laundry load of change
Suit and tie secured, I only need one juror
But I can feel those flames
Smell that brimstone
I don’t think I can beat this on appeal homes
Prisoner of war, law popped
Four dicks, Levenworth
Ain’t my type of tour
Habeas corpus was 300 bars, no chorus
So many trees a nigga
Couldn't see the forest
A lot of fingers is crossed
For us holding weight enormous
Like ‘Who you telling?’
The bag ain’t open but yeah
That’s what you smelling
Rappers gobbling watermelon
Like that’s a new jump off
A fistful of dollars, ain't no telling hoss
Ain’t that the damn truth
No time to bullshit in that damn booth
Can you blame me? The girl was so damn cute
And a fan of the Overproof
Wray and Nephew, we don’t need no water
They got me on tape, I don’t need no lawyer
And I don’t even fucking care
Who spilled those goyas
We had these blocks like Dikembe
And Alonzo on the Hoyas
And still ain’t get the title
Spit on my palm, hand on the Bible
I solemnly swear to see you all in Hell
Took the L in alphabet city:
FBI, DEA, NYPD, DOC, get me?