Cultural Trip

歌詞

[Malcolm X] But then you had some field negroes Who lived in huts, had nothing to lose They wore the worst kind of clothes They ate the worst food And they caught hell, they felt the sting of the lash I’m a field negro [Ka] I soap box for dope blocks Speak for the young I soap box for dope blocks I get it jumping, you know hops Record the story of our fall our glory Revelations in polished speak But our celebration our defeat I soap box for dope blocks Routine new scheme, head above the water Breathe a little, squeeze a nickel, trying to rub a quarter Reconsider, don’t need to hit it I thug your daughter I’m night visible, she like my physical, love my aura Running water, come and order what I manifest Damage yes, long recordings how I manage stress Dealing super issues, superficial can’t address Til I’m here flushed, touched by the hand of death On my dollar chase trying to devour cakes Paid time, made wine from the sour grapes Eat for a minute, say a hour grace Understand, being broke is bland, wonder how power taste Coke is thinner, was off to dinner with scraps To keep younger brain off hunger pains, printed raps Helped a little, what I whittled became art No creations of elation, my pain dark Trying to build sound nation but feel foundations disappear Til poor land a plan to give off the richest air Chorus: I soap box for dope blocks I soap box for dope blocks My street run was serious, I speak from experience Got a hold on the smart, now I reach for the ignorance Worship writer, now my circle more tighter Got juice already, I’m working on cider When you tire from struggle I surface like spider With a mat and a pillow I tame a black widow Used to have dirty steel, now I pack Brillo It’s on my favorite hip, nights ill days are sick Stick ups was our staple, get your paper clipped [Roc Marciano] Yeah, miss the days of a different age Lift the gauge, niggas get grazed Twist j’s, I’m listening to the whispers in the caves A pimp’s bottom bitch’s whisked away Pistols spray out of the Chevrolet Skin separate, paint the town red, decorate Select a date with the electric tape Your denim fresh sweats defecate My allure, a whore’s brochure, rather cocksure I did the cops with the cocked four Keep the Glock up in the top drawer, rob a store Sniff a line, call it Scott Storch Kinda swift, that’s that Oliver Twist Slides with the olive kicks Lil mama, I’m just rhyming for kicks Diamond conflict wrist, fried codfish knish, these polly tricks Trick knowledge, trigonomics, trips to the tropics Lyrics fit in pockets like wallets White wine while Irish, fly iris Pyrex over the stove pilot Drive a ship no copilot, hold a goblet Hollows fly like robins Chorus