The Cafe Black Rose

Now, just about everybody goes
To the Cafe Black Rose
To drink, party, and eat
And if you ain't down
You better not hang around
Else you sure as hell will get beat
The grease is nice
And at a decent price
And all the bitches is fine
The jazz is so sweet you'll be patting your feet
While sipping on a cold glass of wine
You can cop you a bag of reefer or skag
And even some coke or some hash
Don't ask for no credit
Or they'll tell you forget it
Cause hustler's only deal in cold cash
We had just finished greasing
When the bitches started teasing
For us to split and lay
Spoon's cunt collar was tight
Which is understandably right
After serving three years and a day
We were 'bout ready to split
When I dug Brother Hominy Grit
A runner from the south side of town
He was coming our way
So I figured we'd lay
And hear about the happenings going down
Brother Hominy Grit was hip to all kinds of shit
I mean, it wasn't nothing he didn't know
He knew every hustler's name
Including his game
And who did or didn't keep dough
We traded jive then slapped each other five
As Spoon silently checked him out
He had heard that Spoon
Was my ace-boon-poon
So he knew what our hustles was about
He was as usual self
Sporting his wealth
Clean from head to toe
He was dressed pressed down
In a pinstripe brown
And his pocket was bulging with dough