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letra de slaughterhouse - super chron flight brothers

[verse 1: priviledge]

under the dark of night the cover of silence
some mother tuckers her kids up under the covers
to shield their eyes from the blinding light
crashing through their windows
shrapnel p-ssing through their system
asking why is irrelevant when it’s smart bombs
intelligence rat, zeroes in on your welcome mat
cul-de-sac helter skelter
bomb shelter fall to the ground
screams abound
cries from listless little children loud as grown men and women
if you listen its indecipherable
if his mission on the mic why he p-ssing into the tide pool?
if his intention not to fight well then why did he bring the rifle?
this life we struggle with, these stresses on the daily
similarly, internally question ourselves the same way
why you start off with a gram, turn it into a day?
why you let weekend slip away?
why uncle sam always take so much of my pay?
why did elle driver k!ll pai mei?
the streets don’t stop, they stay plain
as the breakfast of champions with kurt cocaine
i ate yesterday on burnt toast, don’t ‘serv’ so safe, what a waste
got used to the taste inside the slaughterhouse where modest mice get stepped on
under the cover of silence
the dark of night made my escape unbated, breath
took a pull of the cess, headed straight to the rest
just hope tonight’s not mine
and i await to the next – c’mon!

[verse 2: billy woods]

ask me no questions–
in front the velvet ropes it’s all bright lights and banging acoustics
follow me backstage, behind the music
under the masquerade, bitter old burnt quart masked by dutches of haze
you see? it’s more than the words on the page
dialectic slaves ever indirect
so when he says he never loves a b-tch
i see a little boy ashamed his mom’s on that sh-t, on that strip
and even when she was real sick daddy ain’t ever call
ask your favorite trapper slash rapper
the one who keep working the streets, the one who ball
the merciless gun clapper who’s team runs deep like a marathon
gangsta all day long but let police get at ’em
mouth open like the amazon
when them crackers got you laying there ain’t no rap song
it’s a lonely biz – fair-weather friends, tears from mom
and the hardness of eyeing your kids
live by the gun? trust me that uzi weigh a ton
play it again sam, only this time make it look like you having fun
the great pretenders – ice grill – new blackface
so long as those t–th showing
big spenders with mills in the briefcase, c-cktails by the ocean
models legs open
the american dream written in stifling tenements by fl!cking florescent lights
desperately hoping to escape this life
the words spoken into crackling mics
b.m.w. sitting on the biggest kicks
every black man’s wish personified escape the lead paint and nightsticks
in the dark, searching for that light switch
it’s just a mask we wearing
well, cause round here you either cry or you laugh
and we laughing

- super chron flight brothers

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