True Stories

It be the same excuses, every time
It be the same excuses, every time
It be the same excuses, every time
It be the same excuses, every time
Old dog, new tricks
Lied through the teeth like toothpicks
Not one to face the music, just gave it a crude mix
If I’m in, the game fixed
Shifted blame, hedged all bets
Did my part
Left under cover of dark
Smart from the start, that nigga was building an arc
You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows
Over coffee and doughnuts, told them everything they wanted to know
Hey bruh, you know how it goes
If you didn’t now you know all too well
Why you mad son? Do tell
Talk a good one but you right, I don’t want it
Not for nothin, first line of the sonnet
Talk like you never got you a shot
Nah nigga you fucked up a lot
Set my watch off you fuckin up
True stories Op
Tower of London plots
Say what you will but I always aim for the top
Need a fixin to come around the old block
But nostalgia ain’t my bag
Richard the Third with the words I took a drag
Crushed a roach on the curb
Cabs flagged
Gotta get up pretty early to jerk me
Whitey grinned as he took the briefcase
Said he never went to sleep in the first place