Текст песни Zulu Tolstoy - Billy Woods

Wrote a story about a rapper writing a story rap
About his shorty trying to rap his way up out the trap
Plenty hoes, gats, run of the mill but flow ill, voice old cognac
He'd say "No homo!" if this was his track
So I'm writing about him writing about him writing about that
Felt it fell flat,
Took a break but he kept going like "Sorry, B, I got an album to rap"
Two decent sixteens, chorus cook crack
Ended up not using it,
Not like it was wack but something off with the hats
Producer caught feelings, took the beat back
Tape brick bad, he quick mad
Meanwhile, shorty from the song still
Rapping, buzzing, "This really might happen!"
Taking meetings in Manhattan, single has traction
Hip-Hop cops trying to catch him packing
Dusty old warrants dug out file cabinets, "That's that good hate!"
Every time the phone ring, might could be Drake
Missed SouthBy, whitey wouldn't let him out the state
Stayed home at the gate,
Wrote a hook on his phone and knew right away it was fucking great
"The good book says that he that lives by the
Sword shall perish by the sword, said the black
What right man would have it any other way? he said
It makes no difference what men think of war, said the judge.
War endures. As well ask men what they think of stone.
War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him."