Bob Barker - Armand Hammer, Billy Woods, E L U C I D

If you can’t say fuck the police out loud and in public

We can’t strategically build with you

It’s a crime to be poor

Satellite arm of the law

Body snatcher

No man knows the hour

4, 5, 6, is it my time yet

Full circle

Perfect loop like dying on my birthday

Cremate me in my boots

Scatter my ashes on an ocean

Imma walk on water

The suicide draw for the fourth quarter

Everybody play the fool

Top of the key, my shot water

Four classic

Bundled to the neck in my sister Rosetta dob sweater

Varsity led 'em into be a nigga is to Eshu elegance

Melancholy medicine for pressures

Spirit swells like faces under baton strike the hard hardener

Her aging cosmic eye shadow

Will reign

Avenge on those who describe the real and assume power

That’s a wet dream

I woke up on fire

Still in the east

My only goal is to die free with my dick hard

Far from the potter’s field if I’m being selfish

That’s not my story though

If my mother singing glory

It’s cause her baby boy getting over on his own terms

My brother too, it’s so precarious

Ain’t no flamin' chariot up north unless we torture prison, bust

Sterilize the wound

To keep the kins who come, flushing the face, a numbers game

Projections start with seeds in the third grade

Incubation, more black bodies required

There’s no soul in this machine

There’s no soul in this machine

There’s no soul in this machine

There’s no soul in this machine

There’s no soul in this machine