DR. MONOKROME - Arcade lyrics

The Reavers (ft. Priviledge and billy woods) - “Arcade” [Produced by DR. MONOKROME] [Intro: Priviledge] No doubt, son (Yes, yes). I'll be telling n***as every day, you nah'mean? Backwoodz. Cryptic words. Cuz at the end of the forest. (And where you heading from?). Mars. Right, you don't understand [Verse 1: Priviledge] Midday dreams. Turnpikes speak Learn like termites, hurt these trees That's wild. Uncertainly scene That deserted GWB at the podium Holding up thumbs like there's something to see Come on, cuz, it's just me And I'm just talking. I'm just an emcee You should probably be focused on the State of the Union Diffusion of my words into statements I'm using hyperbole to verbally qualify Knowledge that can't quite be quantified Step with your shoes. Check, one, two "Bust a Move" like this was ‘92 Baby, “you got it” like she had to have it Two wheels through this “Crosstown Traffic” Adding a** like "Spanish Castle Magic" Drew me like a magnet. More bad habits Split infinitives in sentence fragments Friday sunset, up to drag nets Don't holler back ‘til we catch my Sun With all his gadgets and his glorious madness Head underneath since the campus habit Dirty dog, what's worse than the bloody cloth That fell off while she's whispering, “Touch me soft”? That's a trifling thought From a sick mind. It's time we taught ‘em How to cross the moat without using the drawbridge Come on, son. What's all this commotion? [Verse 2: billy woods] Thrice the price if it's Flight twice and brights Police mag light. High subverse For a nice enough slice. Christ, take your wife advice Stay in tonight. Spot's hot, solar ice Pipe-dream-your-whole-life type Hype while you stay, fight. Hockey mask hide The overbite, Christ. Boxcar dice Crap out, we ready for mics like Stanley Cups—call it luck You don't give a what? If, and, but Or neither. All the above. Range truck Outside Citibanks, stuck the clutch Middle of jux, sitting here when both go bust [Verse 3: billy woods] Double Dutch, double take Triple double. I don't do much. They spilling Bings, we fill a Dutch. Bear-hug A thug, snap vertebras, cut a rug On fresh graves. Now that's showing love Show me the d**, make the trey not here Going to pubs in the back of the cognac While I smack the track. Matter fact, give me the pack I'ma be right back Stupid is as stupid does ‘Til the boys beat the game, pull the plug