Just about everybody goes
To The Cafe Black Rose
To drink, party, and eat
And if you ain't down
You better not hang around
Else you sure as hell will get beat
(?) a decent price
And all the b**hes is fine
Jives are so sweet you'll be patting your feet
While sipping on a cold gla** of wine
You can cop your bag of reefer or skag
And even some coke or some hash
Don't ask for no credit
Or they'll tell you forget it
Cause hustler's only deal with cold cash
We had just finished greasing
When the b**hes started teasing
For us to split late
Spoon's collar was tight
Which is understandably right
After serving three years and a day
We 'bout ready to split
When I (?)
A run up out from the southside of town
He was coming our way
So I figured we'd have to hear how it was going down
Brother Hominy Grits was hip to all kinds of sh**
I mean it wasn't nothing he didn't know
He knew every hustler's name
Including his game
And who did or didn't keep dough
He traded jive and we slapped each other five
As Spoon silently checked him out
He had heard that Spoon
Was my ace boon coon
So he knew what our hustle's was about
He was as usual so
Sporting his wealth
Clean from head to toe
He was dressed, pressed down
In a pinstripe brown
And his pocket was bulging with dough