Dead Money

Dead cat bounce on that Marx and Engels, get back ounce
 Smooth Charles Rangel striking his bangles
 Pockets got that Bobby Jindal jangle
 Still say "I don't got it" to Mr. Wendal
 Raise the shirt, colostomy bag strapped
 That'll get you a dollar where I live at
 Bush weed in a Philly, I'm bringing New York back
 Cardboard box laid flat, spinning on his back
 Show time, show time! Street's a yoga mat, warrior pose at shows
 Free artisanal negro flows you won't see up the street
 Backstage roasting leeks, serving quiche Lorraine
 Nodding politely to sample-based beats, peep game
 Nigerian Chamber of Commerce award on the mantle piece
 Would pass the kill, but can't reach, won't move, don't care
 Slow week, old news, new scares
 Cold feet, hot shoe, electric chair hair
 Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
 Too close to crack glass water
 Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
 Too close to crack glass water
 Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
 Too close to crack glass water
 Open swim, circling fins, drawer full of grenade pins
 Grin like the light skin of rich, tan white men
 The lost Pouncey Twin, uh, triplet
 Show up at your baby mother's like "Hold this biscuit"
 Yup, he ain't about shit, the roach clip hiss
 Hawk, spit, kung fu grip, black Farah Fawcett
 Even beat, she was gorgeous as she pass mothers on porches
 Wolf whistles on corners, Mangosuthu Buthelezi
 Blow smoke in Mandela's face like "Fuck you, pay me"
 Rap hands Reiki, dash cam grainy
 Enter sandman, I did the Hammer dance
 Looking for a why, but it was happenstance
 Shoulders shrug, cold as studio thug overdubs
 They found the piece in some shrubs
 Microscopic droplets of blood
 If God made the world, motherfucker was wearing gloves
 Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
 Too close to crack glass water
 Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
 Too close to crack glass water
 One man's revolution is another man's rhetoric
 And my semi-slurred syntax isn't a clear indicator of my intelligence
 Yours either, radiant child, furious style
 Synthesize a divinity sound, improvise, my eyes reflect
 Mirror face like Herman Blount in heavy foliage
 Joyful noise, blacksmiths in the brightest void
 Built to destroy, not self-destruct
 There's a time and place to not give a fuck, but right now seems so critical
 I wanna see everyone who's been made invisible
 Murmured voices leak in my ad libs
 In a house where sadness and wrath live
 No room for rent, money came, money went
 Her honeyed gaze cut like a dagger
 Through pulpy flesh at the heart of the matter
 She put me on game, but didn't have to
 I came like thunderclap followed by uncontrollable laughter
 Life's ill, spin the wheel, big buck, no whammy
 T-shirt tan, my Vans still sandy
 Somewhere far from home when you look up in the night sky
 Like, "Is this the same one I know back in NY?"
 Wise as a serpent, no compromise in these verses, work song
 Honest toil as the day is long, word to my mommy
 To the question "Why?"
 "It's at the end of a belt" she replied, you'll get that when you get it
 I don't move if I don't feel it in my spirit, a lyric ain't a lyric 'til I spit it