Slick, agile clever, innovative, cross-genre hip-hop/cyberpunk with shades of OutKast with added classic late-80s Roland TB-303 bass rave sounds, by the Los Angeles experimentalist trio fronted rapper by Daveed Diggs with Jonathan Snipes and William Hutson. To explore and enjoy more by clipping., see also the other embedded links below. Out on Sub Pop.
Get the work and
Get the work and
Get the work and
Get the work and
Get the work and
Get the work and put it in the pot
Mix the motherfucker till it rot
Roll it till it fit into the needle
Then you stick it in the middle of the hood
And watch 'em run it
Got a bag, got a bitch by the bar (by the bar)
She bring the cash, catch a motherfucking star (fucking star)
Pay the tab, pop another purple pack (purple pack)
Slow it down enough so you can get the world back (world back)
Pussy in the air, pussy popping on the floor (on the floor)
Elevator up to 27, there she go (there she go)
Two inside, two more say they on the way (on the way)
Back to back, back up in the club
To make the jaw bone sore from the teeth grind
Got too fast for the rewind
Have to put it back piece by piece by
Please mind the gap behind the black sheets
Find sprinkles of
Sanity for the gums
Vanity for the tongue
Canopy for the cum
Damn it, want to be dumb
Skin is itching, you sitting bitch in the back seat
'Till the switch flip and you're spilling spit on the concret
Pill under the tongue and let it melt
Catch the feeling for a minute by yourself
When it's needles on the bottom of your feet
You know the shit done made it down into the blood
And you can run it
Got a Jones, got an itchy trigger finger (trigger finger)
Got to go, Paulo got a couple stingers (couple stingers)
Get a dab, let it get you straight again (straight again)
Get a cab
Didn't mean to wake up in the same clothes
You been rocking for a motherfucking week
Don't let nobody get it twisted
You are not a fucking tweaker
Put the shit designer, cook up in the beaker
Put the shit designer, Gucci on the sneaker
Jaw bone sore from the teeth grind
Got too fast for the rewind
Have to put it back piece by piece by
Please mind the gap behind the black sheets
Find traces of
Residue in the pots
Etching you in the thoughts
Of every new city cop
The ingenue was an opp
Skin is itching, you just a bitch with a bounty
'Till the switch flip and you sucking dick in the count
Aluminum in between the teeth
Mean you probably got to get up out the street
Get your connect on the phone
And let him know
You got the paper in your pocket for him
And you need to run it
Don- don- don- don- don-
Don't it feel like god to you
Who's your daddy?
Can he buy you what you want?
This is what you want
Don't it feel like god to you?
Put that up inside
Run it up inside
Run it, get your life
Got a deal, said they got a VIP (VIP)
Got a vibe, never had to show ID (show ID)
Got to rush, got a water bottle ready (water bottle ready)
Got a pill
Drop and then shake it (shake it), shake it (shake it)
Shake that shit round
You all the way up and they thinking they down
Leave the club looking for that real shit (real shit)
Grab a dub
Can you catch the feeling
It's the jaw bone sore from the teeth grind
Got too fast for the rewind
Have to put it back piece by piece by
Please mind the gap behind the black sheets
Find remnants of
Something inside your head
Rusting and running red
Must've been nearly dead
Then they came for the bread
Skin is itching and twitching, running a fat check
'Till the switch flip and you end up taking your last breat
Bloody on the inside of the lip
Bite it every minute 'til it split
Let the drip fall slowly to the floor
Until there isn't anymore
And you know that you need to run it
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