40 WINKS

Intro:

- This is... -son and I'm callin' you from Grey Cemetery, how are you today?
- Yeah? Uh, not-not, not that good...
- Oh I'm sorry, well listen the reason I'm callin' you today is to offer you a peace of mind through pre-arranged burial plots!
- Uhh, Bobby you won't believe this uh, my-I lost my job Thursday
- Oh I'm sorry...
- And uh, I was sittin' here just contemplatin' suicide, and I was prayin', askin' God for a sad...
- Yeah but I'm just callin' you because your name is Donald...
- Yeah, I know but-I don't see something's in control I don't know what it is, but I mean you're the Angel of Death, man
- Look, is there anybody that I can call for you, do you have relatives, do you have somebody that uh, that we can contact?
- I'm glad no, well I'm glad that you callеd, I can-I can use your services hеre, umm, I mean you know wha-wha-how much is this stuff?
- Well you know we have different price ranges for a different sort of uh, you know plots, you-you know you just got 'em sayin' of thinkin' of takin' your life uh yeah do you have uh I don't know, a credit card or a check report... Lemme ask you this, if I have a paper-sir?
- Yeah
- If I have a paperwork out to you say uh this afternoon you think you could maybe hold off until tomorrow?
- Hehehe...!

Yeah, bring that shit home, pff, shit's been fucked up, man, hey ayo, (I have to go ?, man, my bad) Trench Work, Tripper shit, yo, yo

Verse:

This for the critics, cynics, and rap analysts
Talkettes at rap events and rap panelists
I'mma shoot up the senate house, all panels lit
My cult up in the game, not Indianapolis
Frying macrochip, light masochist
I stomp earthworms out the Big Apple pit
Trust me, both my parents called me sick
My gun illegal, like a dirty MILF to 40 State
I'm handin' out 40 Winks
Bullets the size o' Ant Man, before he shrinks
I'm just here to rap, you can head the fuck off
Flow mud morgue studio, one gun vault
You're just some Ted-head suckin' off blood sauce
My county smoke bodies on the low like Humboldt
Metal Falcon with the ounce of spores
Pop caps like Calvenor, Heaven's Gate
Purple drapes house adorned
Rapper murder rate on El Salvador, I'm dead out this whore
J.R. Tolkien in the den cutter with books
Smokin' jacket elbow patches in the rook
Pipe tobacco (huh?), I'm smearin' soot
I'mma go out sketchy in a telly like Sam Cooke
Hide behind the Ouija and a shovel I'm diggin' Guru back up
Flip shit, wicked as Guru the Mad Monk
Red typewriter, ice fires blow the lab up
Condom on a gun dick, for a fast bust
This off the cap spores who travel, organs ravel
Bleed this bitch, like a whore in Babyl'
Pull out a brain like corpse of pharaohs
Give frames Airtyme like the Jordan shadow (Ohh shit)
The irrelevant myth, Syd gelatin drip
Jack Skellington with the Remington grip
Kick skeletons in (What?)
I'mma lean you like Martin Luther King Boulevard elephant piss
Why save all the wretches (Why?)
I'm out sprayin' so the house raided like SWAT was sent in (Yeah)
Bald ratchet no extensions, loft rentin'
Killer on tracks I'm, Ángel Reséndiz

Tommy Wright III Outro:

4 corners bound, bitch, you know the sko'
Pimpin' Ville niggas have your families ridin' limos
We're doggin' motherfuckers, keepin' bitches on their knees
Lock you in the trunk and then we'll throw away the fuckin' keys
Niggas talk shit and get, caught in the crossfire
Die motherfucker, 'cause you knew this was a do or die...