EL TORO COMBO MEAL

(album: Feet Of Clay - 2019)

[Mavi:]
Tryna, tryna
Tryna

Man, lost my dog in staircase
Took the highest spot on the podium
Ghost niggas prolly smoking to the thought of knowing us
They lost a part of growing up
Smartest, learned I had to keep a wedge to get out of the rough
Use the clips, ain't used to disrespect, 'cause we carried enough
I promise I buried the grudge, preparing and carrying grub
Larry Hoops, I was lost in the alley
In the air, but now I sunk
I spun to the loss of my grandmama, buried the dunk
Send 'bout a prayer a month, through the above
Niggas moody but they view at the funk
Ain't shit to do, they play with food, they rhyme and Rubik's for fun
But I do what I want, ayy
And I rue what it was later, allude it as such
Confusedly up with paper, I'm shooting ones with the judges
The same as my brother been with a muzzle, that's from the cradle
So we going to the grave with this shit
If we join the second line of ancestors and hand us a drum, loaded, a second time
Something scary 'bout airing out the shit I compress
The fair game, the fair now, the causes
An arm, leg, an arm, leg, and a head
And all greater conquest that takes our partner to rest
My partner, my partner spawned with a nigga red
I'm all on they neck, 'till my car parks, pardon it, fresh
Smart with a few niggas, sparking that large percentages
Was all to the wind, the losses come as often as wins
And impossibly thick
Don't got a job, I only ball off pick-six
I ball with fresh niggas, Lowry had shit lit, it's Christmas
I only know six niggas been lying, but we ain't gon' mention
Who in the stu' and started sweating', told 'em, "It's the kitchen"
You know the rules, and we know how to shoot the loopholes
Who go boop-a-loop, and my kid, though got the kid
And you gon' juug a boogaloo
I been spitting to rhyme the answer, not definitive, I just cramped it
I was gifted with words, oh damn, I took my lumps, my bruises, moved
What the fuck are you to do?

[Earl Sweatshirt:]
Every time a nigga didn't spot me
I had to figure out my own thing
Now we at the precipice dropping
Harry Potter with the Dub-D's
Magic hands, nigga, what cheese
Had a chance, then it crushed me
We gon' get it by all means
Rest in piece to my rocks, G
Raw fruit in the box, seeds
Let go, then I got wings
I'm seeing red, I'ma charge
You seeing red 'cause you salty
I keep the tears out my mind, reach
I put my fears in a box, like a prayer that you won't read
Spirited Away, the whole thing
Tearing away, I won't leave
See you staring into old beefs
Ticket booths, where they told me
Thickest thorns on the roses
Pistons roaring like I'm Rasheed
Pistons roaring like I'm Ben Wallace
Pistons roaring like Chauncey
Billups, something, 'cause I been driving
Every time a nigga didn't spot me
I had to figure out my own thing
Now we at the precipice dropping