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from After Hours by MAXO

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lyrics

It's really nothing.
We fucking.
But never loving.
Spending nights in motels.
Made love come out of nothing.
It's really nothing.
We fucking.
But never busing.
Mind gone off the haze.
I'm on the block, nigga whats the word?
It's 20 zips in my pocket.
This isn't me, but I do this shit for profit.
Since a young'n been on the curb.
Ain't been the same since they blew out my cousins brains and left that nigga for dead.
I can cope, Henney straight to the head.
Fuck your statistics.
I'm living without a feeling.
Strattera all in my system.
I'm chillin'.
Willy beamin'.
I'm leaning, Can't get it up.
I'm feinding for all that pussy she throwing.
After this stunt, Man I'm dippin'.
No intentions or mention.
I hit her back though.
Unless she throw it back though.
That's a fact though.
I wouldn't lie to you. x 2.
Because then I tell her like.
Go and see em'.
Homies ride with they tints low.
Fifth grade, popping bars off them windows.
Selling candy up in class when my ends low.
Back then, no food in the fridge though.
Back then my big homie had that hammer tucked.
They plucked that boy before they got to hold that hammer up.
To each his own my nig, I gotta get my shit straight.
I was eleven. I wasn't trying to see the pearly gates.
What I'm supposed to do? This is the life we living.
Grown men killing children, just for the feeling.
Drilling cause you raised by women.
No father figure.
Late night selling dope.
Don't let them coppers get us.
God, forgive us.
Because I tell em' like this..
I tell em'.

credits

from After Hours, released November 30, 2015

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BURNT•TAPES Anchorage, Alaska

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