Ministry of the Torture Couch (feat. Hemlock Ernst)
[Intro: Busdriver]I just really wanted to be included in the conversationMy nigga, let me give you my thoughts on the matter[Verse 1]My introduction to the party was "Who be that?"With small talk littering conversation with booby trapsChewing fat with political theorists busy reviewing statsThey're going home to niggas committing unruly actsBut not getting fitted for no Uzi strapsJust keeping the hoodie mac and the doobie wrappedAnd never reflecting how we truly actThey're screaming out that shit until the motherfucking tubing cracksCause it feels like a lacking military coup in factBut had to bring Paul Mooney back to give y'all the point of viewOf a threatening black man, cause these legislators get paid for theBooty claps so we had to bring the coofie back[Hook x2]So take a breath, take a step, take a leapI'ma take these motherfuckers straight up out their seatsYeahReach for the sun, I shoot from the hip with teeth in my gun[Post-Hook]Remember when we were radicals out there fanning them flamesRooting out injustices in our family namesCops measuring our grave plots in candy canes[Verse 2: Hemlock Ernst]I motion to leave the party earlyBut held down by my sleeves, it's like a mild birthingPushing past the ledge to know I'm not freeWonder if they'll remember me?As something more than a centerpieceOr a choir boy for the simileFor the four-fours, for the entropyLike the chorus was always a friend to meIn migrant visions though -- my mind was a cash boxFollowed behind grandpa in black socks, wild at heartHe smoking KOOLS, 'til the day of the locust -- movedHim barely unfocused -- blue, but when I concentrate I'm scary with truthsHalf-remembered from my ones and twos and force of my past livesA pastor in knife fights, a bastard, a light briteI'm just babbling but what I found is our self-worth has been rookedThe truth we pull from our subconscious?Just won't read it in books[Hook][Interlude: Busdriver]Don't you remember?Remember usLet me tell you about itRemember when we were radicals out there fanning them flamesWith a mouth full of reading and a tummy full of grain?Don't you remember?I was there with youIt was different thenWe sung the old folklore, we sung the Goodlife hymnsMy nigga said this one, and I repeated it. It goes:[Hook 2]Fuck a cop, fuck a copHe's ready to drop a copFuck a cop, fuck a copI'm ready to drop a cop, he saysFuck a cop, fuck a copI'm ready to drop a copHe's ready to do what you're to but he'sReady to drop a cop[Verse 3]I wasn't ready to do it, I was studying music to make y'all pop your topSo I'm steady improving I calibrated every step of my awkward walkI’m off of the coverage I’m combing the undertow, “where are ya wonder crops”I'm celebrating all the over-medicated veterans indefinitely to have a better understandingOf General Lee, and how he felt about the universe and generallyThe same sentiment of bus unions, make havoc viewing blacks as sub-humansWe don't get down like that, the criminal intent of how I actGot me discussing paramilitary tactics with a leftist weirdo on the census bureauThe crackling kinetic energy around them French braids come from the planet's furnace re-purposedFor the hustle's various inertias I put the workers in burkasFor the political Whirling DervishMy nigga free jazz's finances have overloaded them circuitsIt's tedious selling them inebriates for the CIA achievement listThe edited gagged that failed Confederate flag draped over the petri dishI remember when I was oblivious, a tight wad with an iPodBut then I got pulled over by them cops and got rolled up by the vice squad so I'm likeFuck a cop, fuck a copI'm ready to drop a copFuck a cop, fuck a copI'm ready to drop a cop, like he saidFuck a cop, fuck a copWe ready to drop them copsDown a few levels off our importance in society, nigga[Coda]WoahGoodlifersLos AngelesNigga I'm floating in the sky above everyone, yeahFuck a cop, fuck a copI'm ready to drop a copFuck a cop, fuck a copI'm ready to drop a copOff the elemental tableDisable all of them motherfuckers and hook them niggas up with a USB cableRight in they navelFuck a cop, fuck a cop[x2]Let me show you with teeth in my gunLet me show you with grief in my punsWe were different thenMore in touch with each otherWe spoke more oftenWe were more likely to go back home
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