Album: The Grind Date
Watch the problems of the world go by like balloons
If tomorrow come now (it might be too soon)
Too soon?
I want the boom in the back of the truck
Ain’t nuttin the matter with a good dude havin a buck
With that on my mind, I’m on the grind, it pays
We break it down in these three ways, yo These days, I travel the Maze like Frank Beverly
To the East, lookin for pieces of a better me Responsibility of my man’s felony fell on me Celebrity status, make 'em think I got celery
Hell and I do sometimes, still the sunshine ain’t even all day
(Yeah) The life of a baller, ain’t even all play
I stack 'em, so the chips fall where they must
I ain’t far from a Benz, or dude on the bus
Even when I don’t have enough, still in God I trust
Said baby you’re a star
Said I’m on the car, seen the jiggiest of stars
become dust, and one love become lust for the papers
Had you gassed now that — gas became vapors
Tricked your cash on ice; shoulda had acres
Now your, empire fell like the Lakers
So you’re talkin to your maker
It’s the nature of the business, they givin niggaz inches
Takin miles and mules, it’s the wildest rules
I’m tryin to walk in the black scent of proudest shoes
Makin music that the crowds can use
+ (Dave)
Yo how the days of your life go Dave? (With sunshine and shade)
That’s it? (Tinted window grades and Kool-Aid)
Watch the problems of the world go by like balloons
If tomorrow come now (that might be too soon)
Too soon?
I want twenty-four plus on these
Put the pinto engine and the bus on these
I get that first class seat to escape the days
We break it down in these three ways
Check the life I got that antidote, canteloupe scent, bent back
in the sunroom froze, put your flick on pause (and pop a cork)
There’s no occasion nigga it’s just because
I’m celebratin for a hell of a day
Get these barbie filets on hot charcoal tracks, so black
Darko Pecoltrane plays them back
We them freedom fight kids who gon’ball and raise fists
If y’all down for the struggle, c’mon y’all, resist
Everyday script, I exercise cheek
Sixteen on the bar, I exercise speak (ha)
It’s been a long time, Long Isle’s on the map
While y’all stand on the corner, stoned like Chris
Kiss back, watchin time — wrist back
Every second count but just finish this lap
You gamble on your life like casino slots
and cash out and still walk with a knot
+ (Pos)
Yo how the days of your life goes Merce? (Man I’m just holdin my head)
That’s it? (Shit, I’m also tryin to hold this bread)
Watch the problems of the world go by like balloons
If tomorrow come now (that might be too soon)
Too soon?
I furnished the rooms, and mortgage on these
See them quittin ass rappers caused a shortage on these
The soul boys of big illa-noyz get the praise
We break it down in these three ways
My moms died from secondhand smoke; so I wish yo’ass would die
from them secondhand rhymes you wrote
Or shall I call them second rhymes — written seconds 'fore you enter the booth
Words thrown together with very little truth
And a select few can do it (true) you ain’t part of them scriptures
And got the nerve to feel you want me out the picture
But I was never in it, I’m the frame around the flick
Or dishin in the mouth of your dame around my dick
Ladies and gentlemen, introducin Workmatic
One of L.I.'s finest, and this is MY LIFE
Which is filled with bad minutes and good hours
and, good months and bad years and with my peers
we struggle to juggle the shit
Family life and the music game don’t easily fit
My lady wants me home, sayin rap tour three rap whores
and scores of scandal, even more than we can handle
Sometimes, the rhymes I say
Is the fly the currency to save the day
Can’t turn it away, cause we out
to find presennce way beyond our measure, so baby don’t pout
Don’t pout, De La Soul now turn it out
Don’t pout, Common Sense’ll turn it out
Don’t pout.