“Teardrops and Closed Caskets”

Posted on December 25, 2012


(A #KZHS Interactive Hip-Hop Experience)

“Teardrops and Closed Caskets”

 Teal Ash 1

Lyrics by K. Ziruolo

Music: 2Pac’s “Teardrops and Closed Caskets” instrumental

(Click for music; lyrics begin at 0:11)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AAVaVRYKhIo

[Verse 1]

Get the point quicker than two bad kids wrestling with scissors

Called insane quicker than Al Capone in prison with syphilis

My potential “Sky’s The Limit,” the possibilities limitless

Try to make them understand how all the puzzle pieces fit it

Got a pathological indifference to the shit TV is spitting

Coal Township prison; my grandfather needs a visit

The bank job successful, but they found a witnesses against ya

Gave prison repeat business like you didn’t even miss us

I watch “Lockdown” to catch a glimpse of where you’re living

If I get famous for this, I’ll get you out by Thanksgiving

It’s been so long; the crime has surely been forgiven

Grease a palm somewhere; that’s the Governor’s decision

Institutionalized; most of your life on the yard chillin

My parents explained it all; they never painted you a villain

I share your spirit now; been hiding money in the ceiling

No wife or kids to speak of, but I do okay with the women

I remember when you sent us kids a gift for every Christmas

Pick a face from comic strips and you drew us each a picture

I’m in my thirtes now; and I too am artistic

Playing cards on custom kicks; I turned the thing into a business

Story teller paint a picture; drop a couple facts with ya

That they typically don’t answer me when I hit em up on Twitter

It’s enough to make even the most positive brother bitter

I’m just an artist and a writer with a message to deliver

Catch a taxi to the valley; Kevlar vest enshrouding me

Feel the hustler’s spirit right here in the air surrounding me

If I went on the run, you can’t imagine what the bounty’d be

Every hunter in ten states would converge on the county

 

Can’t make it to the lounge in the Compound; I’d have to drive down

I-75 south until I reached Atlanta’s crown

The Westin Peach Tree, and the blocks there around it

The 50th floor décor and the elevator’s sound

A million dollar view; I’d like to make an announcement

We’re ballers for the evening; let’s go hit this steak house up

Pound rounds of Hennessy down before the plates get brought down

Saw a cat in CNN with a revolver in his towel

Check my ID; I’m definitely not a sophomore

Got a thing for custom sneakers even though they might cost more

Hit up my email if you’ve got some folks to shop for

Leave a gun for the week, I’ll engrave it harder than my four

Sent my art out to stars just for props, but I got more

They say I talk too fast; should throw in a hook more

I reply “Pick me up, hit the studio, record scores”

The gun nut in the basement like in Peggy Hill’s book store

Spent more time in the gun stores than I did in the college courses

Desert Eagle in the dorm; a repulsive amount of force

Who put their life story out in the pages of The Source?

Been married to the game so long; maybe give her a divorce

I tried to be diplomatic but my messages got ignored

Getting rude upon the track became my only resort

No other voice this hoarse according to lack of resource

I’m going about as fast as a rowboat does with no oars

I’m not the type to punch whores; clean record would be done for

Teenager in Florida on the sunny Gulf shore

My snapback then was a white wool Charlotte Hornet

With a scuff mark on the top from the basketball courts

The Muggsy Bogues jersey; denim Hilfiger shorts

See the kids I grew up with land in shit of all sorts

Nike Cortez and a quartz making payroll reports

Couldn’t stand stamps in stores or governmental support

Are we the one calling shots now, or following orders?

Life’s shorter than the security is on Canada’s border

Wouldn’t come up to a dollar if we added four quarters

We’ve got nothing left to lose; you’ll never see us on “Hoarders”

Another life lies beyond what we’re seeing; bricks and mortar

When natural disaster happens there’s never enough water

Writing bars so sharp that I could take this bitch over

No Groovebox in the lab or even a Tascam recorder

What I haven’t shared yet, you couldn’t possibly imagine

My art banned from the stands like it was made by Charles Manson

Exact lyrical disaster in the letter from a grandson

After twelve hours in the lab, I just wanna talk to Sampson

I wanna talk 2 Sampson

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@KZHighSociety 2013

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