‘That buck that bought the bottle coulda struck the lotto.’
To invest in scratch tickets is a fucked up motto.
Reks, “Black Cream (The Negro Epidemic),” Grey Hairs, 2008
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‘That buck that bought the bottle coulda struck the lotto.’
To invest in scratch tickets is a fucked up motto.
Linguine linguistics that left my verbal essence saucy,
Send a message, leave you sleepin’ next to headless horsey.
I don’t like thugs, I don’t like nerds,
I don’t like myself and I hate bein’ disturbed.
How you picture tomorrow with the wrong frame of mind?
How you picture love, if you were blind?
I don’t like thugs, I don’t like nerds,
I don’t like myself and I hate bein’ disturbed.
Wouldn’t it be nice if life was sort of like a dream,
And everything wasn’t really what it seemed?
What if everything you ever wished for was in reach,
And you could learn everything your school didn’t teach?
Wouldn’t it be nice if the banks didn’t fuck up the loans,
And people ain’t have to move out they homes?
With no GM or AIG…and for that matter no cancer or A-I-D?