Song Lyrics

Back in those days, back in my end
We would bro-down, every weekend
I miss those times, I miss those skins
I had to ask, do I miss my friends?
On the forfeit towns, where they misbehave
Where they skip the bills and they radio slave
I'm a cutthroat boy, you're an empty grave
We can still be friends, when I get off stage

Rap pack, Sammy Davis, Rap Pages, Betty Davis
Slab tray, off the meat rack
Beat fact checkers need to take a fucking break
If you know what I mean, you know what I mean
My current girl is a stewardess, but she ain't fly
She's well grounded, still astounded to see me try
To play around with the boundaries, beat's hotter than a foundry
Less beef than a pantry, don't call me Tom like Landry
Call me Al like Simon with the words that I'm rhyming
With the peculiar timing, or friends by proximity
I have friends who spend in loud numbers
I have friends who depend on cloud cover
I have friends who don't know my name
My favorite friend, she believes in change
When I tell her about the core of a man
All she says is, "I'm a woman"
And then I say

My friends have dreams, now guess why we're friends
Common bonds come along like Common songs
With an offbeat delivery and awkward obscenity
Audra is here, we walk by the river stream
And wonder about the life and death of chivalry
I'm bumping Tusk, I have a really good memory
And to the jerk that said words don't hurt, talk to me for a change
I'll treat you like Pac in a range
My ex-girlfriend talks to me real strange
Cause she knows being close would make her hate me forever
Got a hoodie that's clever, draped in bone leather
When was it last we hung out together?
It was a scene like put me on the rack
Or rack me with guilt or rack up some kills
Or crack up some crills so you can look good for your friends

I'm done shaking hands, I'm onto pounds and waves
Because I don't have sex on the very first date
You're trying to f*ck but I know people like you
Who spend a whole night saying what they might do
And I'm a doer, not a sayer, shaker and a mover
With the kind of strange game that hits your brain like a tumor
Two more awkward encounters with ex-one nighters
And I'm done shooting off my mouth like gunfighters
I run writers and walk printers
Crowded email, I officially block senders
Asking, "Do you remember? Early December?
We hung out together, I tried to find you on Friendster"
Well, I haven't used that since Limewire, tearaways and junior high alienation
So I apologize for this confirmation of the touring musician stereotype
I'm saying I was drunk and probably a bit bored
To be honest

Roland Pemberton