Friday...

i'm hooked like chris commons, got you tipping money for my moms and ... pops is always tellin me to watch my back, watch my money, mind my sack, lay low off the shit that keeps me right, but i think he just don't have the insight.. that i do ... to make me live everyday, gotta keep runnin.. if i slow down, i'm trapped yo in the gutter, and if i slow down yo.. i'm trapped in the gutta...

don't worry my brutha.... if you trapped in the gutta.... millions o' dollas in stock tied up in Butta'... make you all slippery.... slide down the tube... edible lube... funky groove

for ya stanky ass cousin, down in bermu / da triangle trippin on dead men's ghosts.. shallow be the water, and the sun it can't be hotter.. baked goods in the day, slippin berries all the way, to get us down to the beach, where we can get some sun, where we can get something to eat

like some Patties of Jamaica... that food is gonna take you to the next level... zero degrees... quotations... hypotheses.... terrible prognosis.... your breath... halitosis.... too much garlic last night.... digestive respite.... damn this shit is tight

you're right, it's tight, with bloody teeth that bite, through your skin to your bones, marrow leaks inside your dome.. causin fits of dillussion, confusion, dislocation and abusin.. alcohol to kill, pills to make me slight / ly ill so i can stand up right.

i pass the mic to my right

i reject that shit, it's covered in goo, don't want your nasty spit on my mic covered in poo

HA..word..that was dope, back to work, cause i be broke

and the beats be missin like tone loc.. HA!