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letra de skirmish - the reavers

the reavers (ft. priviledge and billy woods) – “skirmish”
[produced by dr. monokrome]

[verse 1: priviledge]
i’m sitting in my room, sipping a .22
blowing trees like oxygen lost to them
get trapped in the atmosphere in here
i’m used to the smell of the skunk
noticed the aroma and grabbed for my lungs
harnessed the emotion i was sent from above
and it was how it is. as it were, i wasn’t ready
to watch history repeat again and again and
i’m getting excited, like to incite riots when
i’m hyped, so step to the side or then join
in the anguish ‘cause life is pain
and foes get vanquished in the streets where chains don’t
hang from slave ships. slaves hang in chains
for weekly paychecks, then go insane
for degrading pay, subjugating subjects
like serfs and lords, indentured servitude
a war with words, slings, and arrows
shiites and kurds intelligent among you
my mind observed it’s ambiguous, figureless
unquantifiable, completely unreliable
in the realm of science, but i bet they get it
if you package it right with a free gift and an
incentive to buy, insomniac, info-
-mercial addicts, midnight hermits scared of
the backyard skirmish

[verse 2: billy woods]
look, i ain’t too proud
so go ahead, bust me down off that loosie
bad part of town steaming like jacuzzi
big, i was strapped, so i could peep a floozy coochie
’round the time nas dropped “oochie,” kid
had his first while he’s cleaning laces, seeing plates
and summertime faces like we just cut the deck
and drew all aces. girls had braces
we never caught cases, weren’t wild in police chases
now too many newports. n-gga, just go
to court—three strikes. the gods hand me down
mics like, “hold the fort.” f-ck shorts
give me mine like death and taxes. paper fastest
facts is facetious, p-ssions spoke among evil’s axis
allah’s left hand swing like
a hundred grand. after i left, your mom said
“what a nice young man.” she don’t know the half
two hundred and twenty-four grams—do the math
negro g-ssed, sipping zyklon b out the 40
p-ss it to shorty. bring ‘em young, show ‘em how to
tuck guns, cook jumbs, scr-pe crumbs. cops come
play dumb, shuffle feet, hold tongues
in 2004, there’s been a father to your son

- the reavers

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