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kyu (fka tokio) - one train lyrics
[hook]
boy, i got no money in my pockets
got no food up in my stomach
and i’m still out screaming “f_ck it”
b_tch, you can’t contain a mental rocket
with a heart behind the lockets
once a crab inside the bucket
[verse 1]
i got lugged memories in me to pop
(don’t stop)
raining heavy black artillery on cops
(don’t stop)
riding on that one train ’till i come to grip a wood grain
backwood, a winchest’ and mustang from ’96
grew nauseous, threw fights as the builds got stronger
on guard, the days hard and nights felt longer
scrambling for food and ducking 12 or the sh_lls
and selling skins and needles and robbing their sh_t from the shelves
the world’s beautiful
bodies on the concrete, rotting juveniles
my cuticles is dirty, .30 grippin, f_ck the cubicles
as usual, caskets bountiful, our sense immovable
ending up as broke, not far from home is inexcusable
and truth be told, no image shown, the sh_t i hold is me, behold the ky’, the higher oracle, my build is built historical
your walks and talk, hysterical
your face is so affordable
i’m dirty as the plunger in your motherf_cking toilet bowl
uncomfortable live and rest
watchin’ stress rise in laws and press
daily tested for chains or checks
rising weapons for who is next
packin’ the rocks and twist
on the arm for the deadly mix
ain’t no harm when you in the mist
lately missing your head in p_ss
all of my pits are leashed in the chains
b_tch, there ain’t no change with a target put on our frame
couldn’t grasp the range or the rage up inside my brain
caving to the same, getting maimed from all that is “sane”
[hook]
boy, i got no money in my pockets
got no food up in my stomach
and i’m still out screaming “f_ck it”
b_tch, you can’t contain a mental rocket
with a heart behind the lockets
once a crab inside the bucket
boy, i got no money in my pockets
got no food up in my stomach
and i’m still out screaming “f_ck it”
b_tch, you can’t contain a mental rocket
with a heart behind the lockets
once a crab inside the bucket
[verse 2]
had to tuck it
buckin’, all black, ski mask
or a hoodie with the eyes cut out
backwards, put it
falling in a crowd, don’t ground yourself, pull it
imagine yourself in cuffs, grow cold blooded
kids running curbs, the turfs, they send bullets
to the masters, b_st_rds
a golden grinning pastor
k!lling their faith, so we go turn to an eighth
and yet we pray to n0body, only the cash in the safes
all grows regrettable
the smiles of friends are so forgettable
flesh and t__th on streets, we meet our ends by unpredictable actions
and petty fractions, we packing more in the factions
catch a fist of cassius for simply comin’ and acting
[verse 3 / outro]
no slackin’ when mass graves is all that we come taste
and blaze is the end of the trouble and burnt haze
i face the gaze of jesus
the ashes in the cold truth
the flames inside the ice
all comes to slice when it involves youth
a brutus to your truce
no getting through all the quaver
you see, my favor is the fruits
that i accrue from my labor
ain’t getting grouped with all your troops
i move alone and the capers
i see most of you b_tches do, ain’t letting you on my paper
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