Curse me if you want but I ain’t never going to hell
If I fail to post bail I’ll be home on the eighth
Bring a couple a eighths some bottles of crushed grapes
Meet me at the bottom where we parted the cake
Park in that place around back – we’ll be chilling by the lake OR
The sy-ca-more
Discussing the rich and poor
And what the fuck was we living for – the ocean licks the tips of shores
The sun set honey – funny – I thought of Commodores
Yesterday was Ramadan -
Tomorrow we pass-over
Wednesday morning I spread some ashes-over
The casket of past soldiers
Both the paid AND those under-culture
Neither one walks-again or tells who crossed-over
IVERSON
Throw a log on the fire to fight the night
The dying light of the day the heaven’s retirement
I believe I’m amongst my people
So I’ma talk straight – It seems we coming to an end
And a NEW-day, let us begin with a toast
A future of brighter hope
Where ever man can vote, both Jew and gen-tile
Rich or poor, instead of these things that keep us down
Most of the planet brown
Gunpowder is black – but cocaine powder is white
Mix them together – you get yellow tape on the ground
Nights like this – amongst friends
All that matter – all the chatter and the bullshit
From them haters ain’t nothing to us – it’s useless
Let the crowd chuck the deuces
And say Amen to a Judas, who-could never have by our sy-ca-more
Every-body else come on out to the beach-house
There’s plenty of room (Rest ya feet now)
Listen to the ocean and the thunder – now
Our favorite sounds on the radio –
