a day in a week in a year - billy woods + kenny segal lyrics
[verse 1: billy woods]
a day, in a week, in a year
where e’rything exactly as you feared
lightning could strike me right here
right here, holdin’ a phone to my ear
the rest of my life i’ma be like, “yo, i was standin’ right there.”
boxes under the stairs
found some old nike airs, still tight
dust ’em off like, i remember workin’ nights for this pair
nightmares of what it’ll be like
lights from your flight’s landing gear draw near
if i knew you was comin’, woulda picked somethin’ more debonair
best laid plans of mice and tin men
i was dead, didn’t need to pretend when the bayonet went in
a army of fiends, she put chrysanthemums and daffodils in the burnt end of they crack stems
tears stream down they cheeks, just really really weep
but in the end
they hit-they hit the pipe again
if i lose, it was rigged
i’m the man if i win
before settlin’ on a narrative, i took ’em all for a spin
on black ice
steering locked
driftin’
calm from the shock, oncomin’ brights hot
on the windshield it’s one particular raindrop
caught strugglin’ in the incandescence
took my hands off the wheel and cut the engine
[chorus: mothermary]
do we fight it?
do we like it?
how do we recognize it?
how do we recognize it? (how do we know?)
so we like (do we fight it?)
so we like (do we like it?)
i don’t know
i don’t know
[verse 2: billy woods]
grenades attached to rockets
and eager to tell you the names of they prophets
rappers runnin’ outta gas
halfway through they second project
my buldin’ smell like burnt chocolate
knockin’ that new young lil willie bosket
paradise in a gold watch
i was right, the price was a lot (that sh-t’s expensive)
mildly disappointed that all those guns was props
you tinkered with the flow, but yo, the whole style rocks (somebody gotta say it)
who knows, though? nowadays maybe you gotta shoot your shot
i dipped in the fog, rollin’ right off the lock
put drums on the bock
it’s a game of inches, like when police beat you to the f-ckin’ spot
kept walking, head down, waitin’ to hear stop
brooklyn, brooklyn, brooklyn underneath the three clocks
unsurprised when the choppers chop
i read the play, hatchet job, but you work with what you got
life is just two quarters in the machine
but, either you got it or don’t that’s the thing
i was still hittin’ the b-ttons, “game over” on the screen
dollar movie theater, dingy foyer, little kid, not a penny to my name
f-ckin’ with the joystick, pretendin’ i was really playin’
pretendin’ i was really playin’
pretendin’ i was really playin’
[chorus: mothermary]
do we fight it?
do we like it?
how do we recognize it?
how do we recognize it? (how do we know?)
so we like (do we fight it?)
so we like (do we like it?)
i don’t know
i don’t know
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