Lyrics Hack - Billy Woods

I hate driving at night
Just increase the chance Quality of Life gon' flash them misery lights
Stay home, write that Richard Price
But when the script don't flip right back at it like a neighbor on the pipe
Pick up, drop off, pick up, drop off
It's just a job, but you can't never knock off

Gettin' old, goin soft, or just seeing things for what they are
I'ma die up in this car hunched over the wheel with a big roll of small bills
Tray fulla ash, quarter tank of gas, dog eared photos tapes to the dash
18 years pushing this cab from bush dimes to kush in the bag
Youthful crime to this is all I really have
Flash high beams on the boulevard of broken dreams, oh, you don't know it?
Last exit off the road to riches and diamond rings

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They told me:
"Woods, you need a new free project every month and a half and moving forward
The publicist only accepts cash"

Something to think 'bout while I drive like when your connect retire
Introduce you to the new guy and he's 25 (hmm)
The meter runs, release reefer in lungs, now we're cooking with gas
Good times? I ain't have fun seems like everybody else had a blast
Your last tape was half-assed
Few weeks pass ya mans already got the microwave on rehash
That's what's hot on the local thoroughfares, huh? Fuck it, I'll take you there

Red light the beast just stare, watching you try to play it cool
Everybody plays the fool, sometimes hit the corner like we playing pool
Sink the nine
Moving goalposts them folks change rules, no reason or rhyme
I compete with great vigor within the lines that are painted, nigga
So I'm out here graveyardin', narrow margins, pathetic pantomime
Grey Gardens

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