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The Tale of the Smoke
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The Tale of the Smoke - only one 32 line verse done thus far... I will add in the other soon. But vibe to this shit... my man Deep Six on the beat.
square root good intent
Two man group (for now) - Square Root. Johnny Blaze aka JaiL and Good Intentions. Vancouver/Portland based. If you ain't feeling our shit yet, someday you will.
Began 8/1/2003 in a current world problems class JL and I were both taking. "You wanna start a group?" "uh-huh"... and the dice were rolled.
Song Info
Charts
Peak #3,178
Peak in subgenre #1,715
Author
Infinite
Uploaded
March 11, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 5.1 MB 128 kbps 0:00
Lyrics
Everybody wants the bigger dick, It’s like no-guts, no-glory, but when the trigger clicks, I got a whole story, so you can figure it, Listen to it burn like a cigarette, (x4) An average kid with S dot Carter’s, A mind full of rhymes, his crime was he’s a father, Sixteen years old, his hero was 2pac, He took it literal and carried two glocks, He thought that life was a game, He was obsessed with sex, drugs, rifles and chains, Let me take you back to where the stress created and escalated, Before he got a knife in his brain, A day in the park, a blunt was sparked, He talked business with a friend about fuckin’ nark, I guess the – kid ratted him out, Over some slanging, his mom wanted him right out of the house, She immediately hit him up on his cell phone, And said, “Don’t you ever bring your fucking ass home”, Talk about bull shit right? It’s like staring down the barrel of a gun into the bullet’s sight, When you don’t got a dad and you’re mad, When your mom don’t want you, and cops confront you, Your truest homies, claiming your not crew, Your nemesis is out there, aiming to drop you, When you don’t got soul to talk to, When your heart starts to turn so cold, it shocks you, An angel said there’s only one solution, The devil said yeah, to use ya fucking guns and shoot him, Which advice would he take when he throws down? He knows his friend got his back if it goes down, (ha ha ha ha!!) Are you the hunter or hunted, the wanter or the wanted, He sat on the park bench - blunted, Thinking his thoughts and hurrying off, Walking alone through the night, beginning to plot, Or would he be a slave for the rest, Of eternity, with some bullet holes engraved in his chest,
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