Material Things

He totes a toaster to smoke any foe who comes closer, but the gun’s a poser

He ain’t never shot no one, he’s only seen a shot when he was 10 but as he got older

He moved further away from the commotion of the trigger-chokers

But kept a pistol in his pocket just to flash it like a pan, rugged holster

Drugged or sober never shot it, never let the cops spot it nor did he cock it

All day he would watch it wishing he could just pull it out and pop it

But he was too afraid of the repercussions that would walk in

So then the internet came, and he got in some beef with some other manes

Now was the time to show his foes a glimpse of his gun, but it’s old as shit and done

You could see the rust that hung from the barrel where the bullet flung

And no one believed him when he said that he shot someone

Cuz if you’re thug why aren’t you shooting up your foes, don’t front

I ain’t saying to kill…but you too even know this, son

 

What and who was here before me?

And does it matter to my story

Because if I can’t find some truth

Then I know that life does not adore me

What and who was here before me?

And does it matter to my story

Because if I can’t find some truth

Then I know that life does not adore me

 

Little man with his yellow shirt poppin’ out in the grey ghetto

Convenient stores importing glucose to up your sugar levels

He rode in his bike and every time that he turned a right on the lights

To get to the store he saw the KFC in his sights, and their food he liked

He would cop chicken, lick the bone until the marrow inside wouldn’t glisten

Back of the parking lot he parked his bike while he was Coca Cola grippin’

Finishin’ his meal before he sparked his wheels and took off from their kitchen

Locked his bike on the rack in front of the store, he’d go in and buy some booze

Cuz the first time he tried it he was high and woozed, and he liked the taste, surprised and cool

Every day after his high school he’d pour up a glass and drink until the high moon

His life consisted of cholesterol, riding wheels drunk from a buck-a-bottle

Not knowing with that little change he got from the KFC could’ve struck the lotto

 

What and who was here before me?

And does it matter to my story

Because if I can’t find some truth

Then I know that life does not adore me

What and who was here before me?

And does it matter to my story

Because if I can’t find some truth

Then I know that life does not adore me

 

My wish list on Christmas as a Christian was for chain for swingin’

On my neck as it glistened and divided my ice from my skin like division

And when I’d go to my classes, I’d have it out swinging like it was my business

But as the time kept tickin’ and the clock signified the finish

I would drive home, ride slow, bumping Wu Tang and Fu-Schnickens

And I’d see the frequent homeless man seated by the red light

He staring at my Benz with my beats bangin’ right, my head’s tight

And it’s stained, when my brain told me I was rocking that new chain

When I saw him I tucked it under my shirt in shame, and I turned down the play

Then the light turned green and then I unpaused it again

Then the next light would be in the distance of the way

Red again but the car beside me has a sexy chick with her hair swayin’

So untucked the chain and got rid of all my shame, but she wouldn’t change

Her face position to look at the fine chain that I slang

So what’s the point of even having these material thangs, dang

 

What and who was here before me?

And does it matter to my story

Because if I can’t find some truth

Then I know that life does not adore me

What and who was here before me?

And does it matter to my story

Because if I can’t find some truth

Then I know that life does not adore me