Can't come home til my eyes ain't red
Til the bags underneath match the ends in the bank
Til the debt that I owe to my bed take a toll on my dome
Til I'm really doing me
Like a noose on the neck
Of a nigga that was fed up with the feds
Nat Turner on the beat
A machete in my hand
As oppressive as the tension
In the speech, bitch I'm really tryna eat
Put a muzzle on the dog
All the threats are a mirage
What you testing is the pressure on the teeth
Cause you grinding at the jaw
Paranoia in ya thoughts
Black hoodie with the Patagonia fleece
And ya bark is pretty tough
But you yap too fucking much
If you really bout that action take a seat
Manager could chop it up
Get percentages that cut into the overhead
And flip a profit please
Can't come home til my eyes ain't red
Til the bags underneath match the ends in the bank
Til the debt that I owe to my bed take a toll on my dome
Til I'm really doing me
Can't come home til my eyes ain't red
Til the bags underneath match the ends in the bank
Til the debt that I owe to my bed take a toll on my dome
Til I'm really doing me
The ethereal quality of the perfect words to paint a mental image; Yoh does this in a way that seems almost nonchalant. You'd be doing yourself a disservice by not walking this path. Nakama.
A coalescence of New York morbidity and incisive narrative, Amani and KVU managed to capture the paranoia-inducing motion of a Metropolitan dystopia. Dark, moody, powerful, palpable. Nakama.
When we hip-hop artists say we create a space in our music, Namir takes it several steps further and introduces you to an entire universe. Take the journey with Aphelion's Traveling Circus. Nakama.