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Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Black Milk - Sunday's Best / Monday's Worst Lyrics

Ayo, Rise In The AM – Early Morning Laying, 
I Just Wanna Stay In

I Just Wanna Lay In 
Pops Like “Get Your Ass Up, 

Stop The Faking”
“We Already Late, And…”
Sunday Morning Waking, 
Fakin’ Like My Stomach’s Aching

Moms Pull Out Clothes 
Just For Sunday’s Best Occasion
Bowtie, No Lie, Church Shoes Was Aching
80-Degree Weather In A Blazer, 

Body Blazing
Already Can’t Wait Until This Day End
Just A Lil’ Nigga That Would Rather Be Home Video-Gaming
Now We On Our Way In Deacon Speaking

Preacher Preaching To That Congregation, Mason…
Minds Wandering Off, Not Hearing That Man Of The Cloth
Talk About That Man On The Cross
Now We Back To Praying

Old Ladies With Church Fans Screaming Out “AMEN!”
Looking At That Painting On The Stained Glass
Watching While That Collection Plate Pass
Tides, Offerings, To Me It’s All The Same Cash

Fast Forward, Got Odor – A Younging That’s Gone Bad
Let Me Rephrase That, A Younging 
That Went Down That Wrong Path
No Matter How Religious Moms Or Pops Was

Steal At The Counters, Went To Cop Some
Product Of That Environment I Was In
One I Left That Front Door, 
I Could’ve Been Out Of Here

Bullets Flying Is The Norm, 
So Most Kids Walk Without A Fear
Friends Dying Is The Norm, 
So They Walk Without A Tear

Rather Tat It On Their Face To Who’s? Wait
While The Old Head Is Yelling “It’s Never Too Late!”
Too Late, Too Late, Too Late, Too Late…
Too Late, Too Late, Too Late, Too Late…

Too Late, Too Late, Too Late, Too Late…
Too Late, Too Late, Too Late, Too Late…
Too Late, Too Late, Too Late, Too Late…
Too Late, Too Late, Too Late, Too Late…

It’s Never Too Late To Get Your Values Straight
Can You Believe Me, Baby?
It’s Never Too Late To Get Your Values Straight (No, No)
Do You Believe Me?

Heater On The Dresser, Stomach Growling
I’m Thinking “How Can I Make Some Dollars Within The Hours?”
It’s Funny How Them Hunger Pangs To Your Rib Can
Turn A Decent Kid Into Doing A Bid

Over Stick-Ups, Nothing Comes, 
So Screw The Consequences
I’ll Throw This Black Hoodie On, 
Walk Into The Kitchen

Grab My Keys And My Phone, 
Call My Mans To See If He’s With It
But He Didn’t Pick Up, 
I Guess I’m On A Solo Mission

Times Hard, My God, I Can’t Even Lie
A 9-5 Is Not What I’m Tryna Do To Survive
I’m Thinking, While On The Hunt
Somebody ‘Bout To Stumble Out Of This Club Drunk

Without Having That Chain Tucked
‘Bout To Get That F**king Chain Took, Nigga
Yeah – In The Club, Chain Hanging, Swinging, Wow
Baby Moms Is Sending Texts And Sending Threats Like

“Where Them Payments?”
Deadbeat Dad Shit, I Hate You In The Worst Way
Spend Money On Rose, Instead Of Your Son’s Birthday
Mad Quick, I Told Her “Hold Up, Hold Up, I’ll Be There Tomorrow”

Then Went Up To The Bar To Get Another Glass And A Bottle
Okay, Can’t Let Her Ruin My High Tonight, Not Alright
Plus I Pulled This Chick
With Every Sip She’s Looking More And 

More Like The Model Type
Ayo, Lets Leave, I Take Her, 
Reach For My Keys
I’m Stumbling Out The Door Looking

 For My Car On The Street
‘Til I See This Black-Hood Wearning, 
Staring Nigga Tryna Stick Up
Shots Go Off, I Fell Victim… Damn…

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