The Roots — Bread and Butter (Album Game Theory)

YouTube Preview Image

Yeah, through the sirens, the lights is blind­ing
Battle cries sound off, war­ri­ors dying
Last call at the bar for snakes and tyr­ants
Hands up, that’s a mas­sacre the cops kept fir­ing
Run amok, keep y’all etern­ally cry­ing
Fed up, place red stains on glob­al giants
The brain of an Orson Welles
Stuck in a mas­ter­piece, Cit­izen Kane’s per­son­al hell
It’s done, and it’s hot where them hust­lers dwell
And the air bears the stench of a corpse’s smell
Hom­ie down on his luck one foot in the jail
And he down to his last with a quarter to sell
This right here, world première of the last days
The final para­graphs to the book’s last page
You could feel it com­ing, no run­ning away
Let’s get free or let’s get paid
Same shit dif­fer­ent day
The corner­stone to where I lay
It’s shattered glass and crack bags where they play
And scattered ass is passed in ridicu­lous ways
These cats Chef like they Isaac Hayes
Par­al­lel to the grave
Stuck in the game with no rules
And we scream­ing for some water and some edible food
Man I’m right there, rab­bit ears, noth­ing to lose
This is what you ain’t learn­ing in school
I’m try­ing to tell you it’s hard

A loaf of bread, milk and eggs, stick of but­ter man
Somebody’s mother lies dead in the gut­ter
Sher­iff down by them heads, talk­ing that gut­ter
Tell the kids don’t look under those cov­ers, man [x2]

Check it out
A child is born, his mother is gone
He in the middle of it lit­er­ally, tuss­ling strong
For his life, the tide high in the eye of the storm
A man­nish boy arrive and the riot is on
With no spare time to try to respond
Or pre­pare times, it’s hard not becom­ing a head­line
Or pray­ing in the night when it’s bed­time
Or lay­ing your head down
Cuz you already know what it is now
You know a lot of lead­ers ain’t hon­est
And they can’t keep a prom­ise
And I hate to speak about it but it’s all freakanom­ics
Cramped and proud of it, you amped and you rowdy
Tread­ing water try­ing to lift up your head without drown­ing
This type of shit can make your heart stop pound­ing
But you push­ing for the top, too scared to stop
Now it gets deep, bod­ies are float­ing around in the streets
Lot of people who won’t even be around in a week
Man, get the oper­a­tion gone, what y’all wait­ing on?
We been patient, y’all mo’fuckas tak­ing long
The tele­vi­sion get­ting all the inform­a­tion wrong
Doing how they do it get­ting they mis-edu­ca­tion on
They already late
Some­body been was ‘posed to reg­u­late
Instead of wait before they let the levee break
You try run­ning from the truth but it’s giv­ing chase
I got to ask myself,yo, is any nig­ga safe?

The fol­low­ing two tabs change con­tent below.
Gata Malandra

Gata Malandra

Edit­or / Research­er at No Bounds
Gata is a music and arts lov­er, stud­ied anthro­po­logy, art man­age­ment and media pro­duc­tion ded­ic­at­ing most of her time to cre­at­ive pro­jects pro­duced by No Bounds.
Gata Malandra

Latest posts by Gata Malandra (see all)

About Gata Malandra

Gata Malandra
Gata is a music and arts lover, studied anthropology, art management and media production dedicating most of her time to creative projects produced by No Bounds.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *