speak - friday fire cypher | sway in the morning lyrics
[verse]
here come the pain like brock lesnar with paul heyman
straight off the island, my linen whiter than chris kaman
i been slayin’, never been a bench player
pour some liquor on the curb, take a knee, say a prayer
like, “our father out in heaven, speaky be thy name
how were you the f-ckin’ man since sidekicks and aim?”
see, my dream’s in the drain, my life was in the gutter
now it’s vision of the penthouse, i was smokin’ by the dumpster
i wish i had a dollar for every couch i slept on
i wish i had a thousand for every woman i crept on
headstrong and arrogant, headband from fila
now i live like chicharito in anguila tippin’ on tequila
suited like björn borg, starin’ at foreign p-rn
worried i’m so bored but f-ck it, i’ll die poor
nah, that’s what happens when you chase that music in yo’ head
got some homies in the pen, got some homies that are dead
some people hate my guts but say “f-ck it, there that boy, he could shred”
they said i wasn’t special, i wasted my potential
i heard you talkin’ so i f-cked yo’ mama extra gentle
i wore the nike presto with matchin’ polo trunks
you break my record then i break you all like bolo yeung
my umi say life is just a bl–dy k-mite
for who i pray, f-ck it, let’s just make it through the day
shoot and spray, duck and dive, wonder how i get this high
wonder how i’m still alive, dammit it might be my time
time, you see that fly right out the window?
my daddy worked his whole life be he still drivin’ that pinto
face like a yeti, i’m posted at the getty
i came from the ghetto, i’m the brown jared leto
let the dust settle, had rust on the metal
but my chrome still clean since vibrant thing
q-tip for the earwax, first of the year raps
drunk off the beer taps, you don’t want to hear that
westwood chillin’ at habibi cafe
talkin’ ’bout whippin’ bricks, you ain’t never made a flambé
amscray f-cker, i’m in that seersucker
camouflaged, lookin’ rugged like a d-mn deer hunter
godd-mn sway, i guess the buck stops here
bring the black moon back like buckshot here
got a bootcamp cl!ck, we too d-mn sick
got that old school whip with that brand new b-tch
back with [?], had philly on smash
i was that little motormouth with a vision of cash
smalltime conman from the valley of mo
my feet buried in the earth, i had nowhere to go
when my city kept callin’ like a broken hearted ex
i started puffin’ up my chest, f-ck you all i’m gonna flex
right, seven dash, pump diesel like i’m kevin nash
cocaine residue flakin’ on my p-rno ‘stache
no worry if that p-ssy hair furry
i love a lil’ filth, never judge me like the jury
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