"Dead Money" lyrics
Armand Hammer Lyrics
Dead cat bounce on that Marx and Engels, get back ounce
Smooth Charles Rangel striking his bangles
Pockets got that Bobby Jindal jangle
Still say "I don't got it" to Mr. Wendal
Raise the shirt, colostomy bag strapped
That'll get you a dollar where I live at
Bush weed in a Philly, I'm bringing New York back
Cardboard box laid flat, spinning on his back
Show time, show time! Street's a yoga mat, warrior pose at shows
Free artisanal negro flows you won't see up the street
Back stage roasting leeks, serving quiche lorraine
Nodding politely to sample-based beats, peep game
Nigerian Chamber of Commerce award on the mantle piece
Would pass the kill, but can't reach, won't move, don't care
Slow week, old news, new scares
Cold feet, hot shoe, electric chair hair
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
Too close to crack glass water
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
Too close to crack glass water
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
Too close to crack glass water
Open swim, circling fins, drawer full of grenade pins
Grin like the light skin of rich, tan white men
The lost Pouncey Twin, uh, triplet
Show up at your baby mother's like "Hold this biscuit"
Yup, he ain't about shit, the roach clip hiss
Hawk, spit, kung fu grip, black Farah Fawcett
Even beat, she was gorgeous as she pass mothers on porches
Wolf whistles on corners, Mangosuthu Buthelezi
Blow smoke in Mandela's face like "Fuck you, pay me"
Rap hands reiki, dash cam grainy
Enter sandman, I did the Hammer dance
Looking for a why, but it was happenstance
Shoulders shrug, cold as studio thug overdubs
They found the piece in some shrubs
Microscopic droplets of blood
If God made the world, motherfucker was wearing gloves
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
Too close to crack glass water
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
Too close to crack glass water
One man's revolution is another man's rhetoric
And my semi-slurred syntax isn't a clear indicator of my intelligence
Yours either, radiant child, furious style
Synthesize a divinity sound, improvise, my eyes reflect
Mirror face like Herman Blount in heavy foliage
Joyful noise, blacksmiths in the brightest void
Built to destroy, not self-destruct
There's a time and place to not give a fuck, but right now seems so critical
I wanna see everyone who's been made invisible
Murmured voices leak in my ad libs
In a house where sadness and wrath live
No room for rent, money came, money went
Her honeyed gaze cut like a dagger
Through pulpy flesh at the heart of the matter
She put me on game, but didn't have to
I came like thunderclap followed by uncontrollable laughter
Life's ill, spin the wheel, big buck, no whammy
T-shirt tan, my Vans still sandy
Somewhere far from home when you look up in the night sky
Like "Is this the same one I know back in NY?"
Wise as a serpent, no compromise in these verses, work song
Honest toil as the day is long, word to my mommy
To the question "Why?" - "It's at the end of a belt" she replied
You'll get that when you get it
I don't move if I don't feel it in my spirit
A lyric ain't a lyric 'til I spit it
Smooth Charles Rangel striking his bangles
Pockets got that Bobby Jindal jangle
Still say "I don't got it" to Mr. Wendal
Raise the shirt, colostomy bag strapped
That'll get you a dollar where I live at
Bush weed in a Philly, I'm bringing New York back
Cardboard box laid flat, spinning on his back
Show time, show time! Street's a yoga mat, warrior pose at shows
Free artisanal negro flows you won't see up the street
Back stage roasting leeks, serving quiche lorraine
Nodding politely to sample-based beats, peep game
Nigerian Chamber of Commerce award on the mantle piece
Would pass the kill, but can't reach, won't move, don't care
Slow week, old news, new scares
Cold feet, hot shoe, electric chair hair
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
Too close to crack glass water
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
Too close to crack glass water
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
Too close to crack glass water
Open swim, circling fins, drawer full of grenade pins
Grin like the light skin of rich, tan white men
The lost Pouncey Twin, uh, triplet
Show up at your baby mother's like "Hold this biscuit"
Yup, he ain't about shit, the roach clip hiss
Hawk, spit, kung fu grip, black Farah Fawcett
Even beat, she was gorgeous as she pass mothers on porches
Wolf whistles on corners, Mangosuthu Buthelezi
Blow smoke in Mandela's face like "Fuck you, pay me"
Rap hands reiki, dash cam grainy
Enter sandman, I did the Hammer dance
Looking for a why, but it was happenstance
Shoulders shrug, cold as studio thug overdubs
They found the piece in some shrubs
Microscopic droplets of blood
If God made the world, motherfucker was wearing gloves
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
Too close to crack glass water
Seaworthy or not, too late to stop, too far to turn back
Too close to crack glass water
One man's revolution is another man's rhetoric
And my semi-slurred syntax isn't a clear indicator of my intelligence
Yours either, radiant child, furious style
Synthesize a divinity sound, improvise, my eyes reflect
Mirror face like Herman Blount in heavy foliage
Joyful noise, blacksmiths in the brightest void
Built to destroy, not self-destruct
There's a time and place to not give a fuck, but right now seems so critical
I wanna see everyone who's been made invisible
Murmured voices leak in my ad libs
In a house where sadness and wrath live
No room for rent, money came, money went
Her honeyed gaze cut like a dagger
Through pulpy flesh at the heart of the matter
She put me on game, but didn't have to
I came like thunderclap followed by uncontrollable laughter
Life's ill, spin the wheel, big buck, no whammy
T-shirt tan, my Vans still sandy
Somewhere far from home when you look up in the night sky
Like "Is this the same one I know back in NY?"
Wise as a serpent, no compromise in these verses, work song
Honest toil as the day is long, word to my mommy
To the question "Why?" - "It's at the end of a belt" she replied
You'll get that when you get it
I don't move if I don't feel it in my spirit
A lyric ain't a lyric 'til I spit it
