Six Fingers Thick

(álbum: S M T B - 2015)

All rope no bones
I go deep down a well. Never
Been well like a shot in the shell
Leather boot smell stories
I never tell. I smile in the sun
For the back of a steel
Severed from the Earth
Is how I feel. I think about
My lost ones before my meals
How we gunna raise their sons
How we gunna deal, tethered
To my pain I stress and I seal
I keel – body on the ground
Death sounds kneel under no man's
Short hand a sword or a shield
My primal word' real, I burn
Spears for New York its all work and
No fear he think he listen
Never hear. Cause he just showed up
We been here for mad years
That's an uppercut a
White t blood gush
New tenents -tryna-bust-a-nut
I always head tuck, go nuts
I bum rush a Bedford apartment
Eyes are weary are full of lead
I need some place to rest my head
Can I stay your prison state?
Prison state, prison state
City creeps I see you on my aerial
Solo and sterile back pack
Contents garenteed make ya
Feral. I shut my mouth up the fuck
Behind a two barrel I was filming you filming us
What the fuck is TARU
Whatchin you if like to snap and
Pose bodies don't decompose
In the city soil
Ten fold, dolo in the dark I was throwin elbows
I drop. Velocro. Fuck up mega
No show. Toe to toe I never sold
Big rush down to get a home they
Disrobe and cut a chord
While Homey's tryna get grown
What's lost seen it all
Before, lost and off course
Used to cross a single home I'd
Cop a 20 loosi bone but I lost
My upside-down cross when I got sauced
I Fuck a stop
Calculate the cost I number hard, I swell a
Deep rot, climbing out the well
I been shocked and shelled
I accost the void in which I dwell
All the depths I fell
Eyes are weary are full of lead
I need some place to rest my head
Can I stay your prison state?
Prison state, prison state
Prison state these homes I should have never know
Face to face with race in a catacomb