Mick Jenkins, Vansire - Open Late lyrics
[Mick Jenkins, Vansire - Open Late lyrics]
I could see you from the drive-thru
Moving too fast
Right where Broadway hit's the railroad
Baby don't crash
What do you think about hitting taco
It's like 2: 30 AM
Oh yeah
For sure
Let's roll
Crunchwrap
Rucksack
This is not
Dunlap
You know
This is not an ad
It's just raw
It's just what we want
Yeah
OK
Can I get uh
Open late we always workin
Ain't never closed curtains when you
Not on the stage
Might put you on the TV if
You hot on the page
Now we getting new paper baby
Hot off the press
A traffic jam and it's like streets a rage
I know we blessed
More than burning this sage and
More than burning incense
Morning breath when I tell them this truth
It's how they react it's clockwork
You start to tug at the roots
I mean that's how Black thought work
They got you running in boots
You couldn't match with our speed
You couldn't match with our weed
You smell a sack through a purse
And somehow we still got seconds to bliss
No oven mitts I hold heat
Like this shit never hurt
Cold pressed shit fresh to the taste
We open late
I got the opportunity but my
Mans' holding the space
It ain't a race
It ain't a race
Moving too fast
Right where Broadway hit's the railroad
Baby don't crash
What do you think about hitting taco
It's like 2: 30 AM
Oh yeah
For sure
Let's roll
Crunchwrap
Rucksack
This is not
Dunlap
You know
This is not an ad
It's just raw
It's just what we want
Yeah
OK
Can I get uh
Open late we always workin
Ain't never closed curtains when you
Not on the stage
Might put you on the TV if
You hot on the page
Now we getting new paper baby
Hot off the press
A traffic jam and it's like streets a rage
I know we blessed
More than burning this sage and
More than burning incense
Morning breath when I tell them this truth
It's how they react it's clockwork
You start to tug at the roots
I mean that's how Black thought work
They got you running in boots
You couldn't match with our speed
You couldn't match with our weed
You smell a sack through a purse
And somehow we still got seconds to bliss
No oven mitts I hold heat
Like this shit never hurt
Cold pressed shit fresh to the taste
We open late
I got the opportunity but my
Mans' holding the space
It ain't a race
It ain't a race