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letra de goldust - mankind (sciryl & n8!)

mankind ft. cavalier – “goldust”
[emcee(s): sciryl, cavalier, and !llumin@te]
[producer(s): [?]]

[verse 1: sciryl]
the curtain call for the
big show. uh! could give a d-mn if the
fans show up. who the baddest? sure ‘nough
no blunts, but the spliffs got to glow. ‘bout to
roll up and sprinkle in some goldust. bumping donuts
by dilla in a gold truck, gold rims
on it when i woke up, no breakfast, no lunch
just a strong headache and something to sedate
the pain for the moment, knowing that my soul is
golden like even when our home is
broken, like even when the globe is
frozen, or even when the lows is
the lowest. roll with the poor kids, punches get
thrown at the po-po, the pope in the pulpit
for the gold, n-ggas go-go through some bullsh-t
off the throne, n-gga, chokehold from them nooses
raw quotes for those folks who most known. growth is a
nuisance but also the truth to the movement
teachers, you still need proof for your students
paved streets gold and them rubies
but, truthfully, it’s fool’s gold and cubics, loopholes
and blueprints built off silver sold to judas
no communion, no union, no solution
no convo, no improvements
trickle-down theory put to uses, msg trips and
fructose juices, no pulp from the grape
fruit, no seed, heard through the grapevine, blow
weed, no seeds, i ain’t got no money and no
time for note-c’s. note, see i’m a broke king
lowkey ever since i was a protein
with no beef, i ain’t had that iron, i was so anemic
looking for a shorty i could go to sleep with. huh!
getting on my feet now, it’s orthopedic. i ain’t
going out like getting loose ain’t therapeutic (right)
thoughts polluted, i still solve the rubik’s, make a square
out of cubing, roll up mota in a cuban
drinking that malta in the louvre, it’s glass
pyramids shattered on the news, it’s
cat paws tatted on the b00bs, it’s
it’s the eve of destruction, passing out trees
to the public, goldust lace, gold laces on some
torn-up bapes. lord have mercy, pour up drink
drink potions, be merry
mankind falling. please hurry. streets bl–dy
perfect mix for milk and honey
honey

[verse 2: cavalier]
at the final hour
when they kick in the door and they’re busting in, i wave
the bliggity, i’m wise, “say h-llo to my little friend,” and do
a fat-rail nosedive right to their white lie, inhale
a fat line of this goldust. the crumbs
of the empire they stole from. might say the slave trade’s
the world’s first gold rush, but pardon me
trials of black messiahs hard to believe unless we
losing isaiahs and saints at fort wash’, armory
goldust, pocket change of an old bum
could see the concrete the rose from and the prophecy
when the dust in my bones meet the dawn sun, a gust
is blown, and my soul hits the source, the whole sum the golden
mean holding my nuts in front the overseers
rolling up in the school zone. yeah, i smoke with teachers
it’s not a denzel glory tale. my good will’s
hunted just for being extraordinaire. sold out
premiere, black cops in my black-box theatre pay-per-view
let us watch as we clap rounds, applause
at the awards, they appalled that i showed up
i turn their golden globe to goldust, give no f-cks

[verse 3: !llumin@te]
uh! slow down! hold up!
before we finish it, let’s sprinkle in some goldust
uh! this is polish on a brolic figure
street knowledge with a college picture
i should start a fl!ckr, i flash-forward past fashion week
with a smile, no sagging cheeks. i never
show my ass. they’re throwing cash, i ain’t throw it back
why carry weight in a swollen crack?
when the checks read goldman sachs, the facts is hung freely
same sh-t since aunt celie
i’m the color purple devine with gold outlines, that universal
soul glow, i shine. it’s whatever, sun
breathe it in, i’m 12 deep in heaven’s lung
when set rise, i will never run. h-llo
another good morning. the good die young, so if
you’re old in the hood i’m from, you know what time it is
i got a gold piece, roll trees in a
gold leaf in the fall with a gold fleece
no fronting, i speak light through gold t–th
it’s ingrained, n-gga, whole wheat. f-ck
wonder bread—them ‘a bleach ‘til my stomach bled
sh-t, i’d rather be underfed
so i throw up. i should probably have no gut
but it’s swole up with goldust. you so f-cked

- mankind sciryl n8

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