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letra de public defenders - super chron flight brothers

[verse 1: billy woods]
i light sticks and stones
put grow lights in a n-gga home
dreadlock prometheus, i bring you that fire
wayward preacher, streets is my choir
and every night, sunday morning, n-ggas stored like a pew
saints are few but prophets are a dime a dozen
slice ’em into eighths like pizza hot out the oven
snuck the witch out her coven
black magic, she forgot about her husband
no limit poker, hit the slots with a deck full of jokers
king of all blacks took the plastic off your granny’s sofa
got your niece financial aid backed and your brother’s bond posted

[verse 2: privilege]
he did it all for the l-st and leisure
the pursuit of p-ssion that was plainly p-ssive
and clearly cautious when he walks in the dark stuck in mortal madness
(all aboard the savage train!)
leaving in a little kid the letter better not be late
it contains your fate
and seals the incredulous circ-mstances under which you came to cake and get cash like a ninja in a penny arcade
nowadays its – glitz and glamour, chicks and clamor, clips and hammers
words on tips of tongues that never get said for the sake of manners
for the fakest fifteen minute slot penciled in leather bound day planners
hounds in the hen house, round midnight kind of blue, the
whole train jumped the track and flew
it’s the cold vein that i tap into
the oldest pain used to sooth these moody blues
fell to melancholy malaise, n-ggas marmalade the folly of ways these days
twisted off lemon haze, outstanding spore a moonchild when i touch the floor
round midnight kind of blue

[verse 3: hi-coup]
i’m like wow, i just stepped in and n-ggas is looking at me foul
chicks thats hard of hearing be listening to me now
the black faced injun who live in the red clouds
breathe the peace pipe then tommyhawk your body down
when i chill: hold heat, smoke weed, but the police always got a couple more rounds
for a n-gga when he wanna climb two feet leave ’em be few feet deep in the ground
better head this way, man we got better weed. better peeps, better flow, better slang
better hoes, better brains, better blow, better pain
f-ck around and you might be a victim of hit ’em split ’em get down
don’t try to run don’t cry don’t scream don’t make a single peep n-gga not a sound
come from the land where hands cut off hands, to hold the crown
the few, the brave, the proud, n-gga what?

[verse 4: hasan salam]
scratch my name in the groove thru veins and loops
put blues to the record that pain produced
im raw as the h that bird would shoot
moose the mooche with the verbs and the verses duke
been smooth as vermouth with the basic boost
going back to the days of my wayward youth
acting uncouth off the absolute
seduced by the loot and ways of making it duce
resurrected by the truth to escape the troops
of the pigs profiling for david duke
same go for anyone with the haley roots
you know they want our necks fitted for the hangman noose
don’t get soopped you a lame excuse
the games been reduced to you chains and coupes
better watch your back when the apes are loose
for they find you in a trunk like ray carruth
experiment like iran with my hand on the nukes
rain, hail, snow and earthquakes to the booth
actual facts and the track are proof
of the 99 + 1 attributes…
let me say it 1 more time if you couldn’t compute
actual facts and the track are proof of the 99 + 1 attributes lord…

- super chron flight brothers

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