It’s the homeless man, short shirt baring his midriff
Rolling on a girl’s bike like what’s the difference?
Another night at the shelter sober or a bridge drunk
Thinking troll thoughts, cold frost rolls up
The warmth of Boones might hold enough to call sleep
But until then, swill zen and roll streets
Stopovers at the Rock, dollar shot signs beckon
Leather skin regulars slumber what a nice weapon
High stepping sleepwalkers slump to the DJ
60 year old wives flash racks for replays
Husbands yell why aren’t you looking at her eyes
Like she’s not good enough for you, you wanna fight?
Then the next shot’s slammed to the bar worn smooth
A smudged glass emptied in a war more lose
Dead soldiers line battlefields by the brigades
Down the hatches and a lively night is away
At the bottom of the bottle is an answer in another language
If I drink enough then I might understand it
Give it a shot cause what good is a quitter anyways
Been sitting here for ages, maybe many days
Some eyes might not have seen the light of the day
They’re stumbling home late nights, but the sign it remains
Alleyway gravel mixed with drink eager to escape
Mix the wrong blends yep, it’s leaving a trace
Repeating the taste with a splash of stomach acid thrown in
Burning hearts churning in chests a no win
And what’s on tap is taps for livers, a splash of bitter
interacts wracking givers barely interact with shivers
sitting by guys hacking cough splitting sides what they did imbibe
a roll of ones dwindling by the minute’s site
Pulling tabs to pass impassive time hope minimized
Oh, didn’t buy dinner it’s in a knife that’s slitting dimes,
Hit them high
Buzz creeps in and hits them lower, time for the broken seals
No club hits, just rosary gropes and taxi pope mobiles
So surreal, social soak Chernobyl field of broken dreams
Scenes for chameleons sipping rum and Ovaltine
Spots are claimed, turf is marked, welcome wagon wheel cracked
Oregon Trail plague swept through and left the field black
Unless you’re speaking Harley Oil, nobody’s going to feel that
More than a little rust has stuck on hinges of that steel trap
Pool table moved back, room for tonight’s band
Stumblinas leaving finger prints on the mic stand
an uninhibited sprawl tin signs litter the walls
Been fine, sipping a tall glass…mind your own business
Unless you’re buying a round then it is fine
A tenement mind agenda of denim and blood, umm mine? 20 percent of it wine
Fed up with crime, less of a line and more of a gun that is drawn
And any night here with open eyes could be the solemn son of a song
With one of us gone, one will remain and drink in tribute
Sinking quick through walls ‘til every patron is a family member-clinking his brew
I think it is due, a toast to friends with forgotten names
So here’s to all of you.
At the bottom of the bottle is an answer in another language
If I drink enough then I might understand it
Give it a shot cause what good’s a quitter anyways
Been sitting here for ages, way too many days
credits
from Just Might Be,
released March 18, 2013
DRU PHIT
Started following Juga-Naut upon hearing him break down life and rap relating to Kool G Rap on Crate808 and I've been a fan since. Wordplay, skill, the dope backdrops, what's not to love? Sankofa
