Super Chron Flight Brothers - Public Defenders lyrics

[Verse 1: Billy Woods] I light sticks and stones Put grow lights in a n***a home Dreadlock Prometheus, I bring you that fire Wayward preacher, streets is my choir And every night, Sunday morning, n***as stored like a pew Saints are few but prophets are a dime a dozen Slice 'em into eighths like pizza hot out the oven Snuck the witch out her coven Black magic, she forgot about her husband No limit poker, hit the slots with a deck full of jokers King of all blacks took the plastic off your granny's sofa Got your niece financial aid backed and your brother's bond posted [Verse 2: Privilege] He did it all for the lust and leisure The pursuit of pa**ion that was plainly pa**ive And clearly cautious when he walks in the dark stuck in mortal madness (All aboard the savage train!) Leaving in a little kid the letter better not be late It contains your fate And seals the incredulous circumstances under which you came to cake and get cash like a ninja in a penny arcade Nowadays its – glitz and glamour, chicks and clamor, clips and hammers Words on tips of tongues that never get said for the sake of manners For the fakest fifteen minute slot penciled in leather bound day planners Hounds in the hen house, round midnight kind of blue, the Whole train jumped the track and flew It's the Cold Vein that I tap into The oldest pain used to sooth these moody blues Fell to melancholy malaise, n***as marmalade the folly of ways these days Twisted off lemon haze, outstanding spore a moonchild when I touch the floor Round midnight kind of blue [Verse 3: Hi-Coup] I'm like wow, I just stepped in and n***as is looking at me foul Chicks thats hard of hearing be listening to me now The black faced injun who live in the red clouds Breathe the peace pipe then tommyhawk your body down When I chill: hold heat, smoke weed, but the police always got a couple more rounds For a n***a when he wanna climb two feet leave 'em be few feet deep in the ground Better head this way, man we got better weed. better peeps, better flow, better slang Better hoes, better brains, better blow, better pain f** around and you might be a victim of hit 'em split 'em get down Don't try to run don't cry don't scream don't make a single peep n***a not a sound Come from the land where hands cut off hands, to hold the crown The few, the brave, the proud, n***a what? [Verse 4: Hasan Salam] Scratch my name in the groove thru veins and loops Put blues to the record that pain produced Im raw as the H that Bird would shoot Moose the Mooche with the verbs and the verses duke Been smooth as vermouth with the basic boost Going back to the days of my wayward youth Acting uncouth off the Absolute Seduced by the loot and ways of making it duce Resurrected by the truth to escape the troops Of the pigs profiling for David Duke Same go for anyone with the Haley roots You know they want our necks fitted for the hangman noose Don't get soopped you a lame excuse The games been reduced to you chains and coupes Better watch your back when the apes are loose For they find you in a trunk like Ray Carruth Experiment like Iran with my hand on the nukes Rain, hail, snow and earthquakes to the booth Actual facts and the track are proof Of the 99 + 1 attributes… Let me say it 1 more time if you couldn't compute Actual facts and the track are proof of the 99 + 1 attributes Lord…