[Verse: Billy Woods]
1 AM, far as I'm concerned still Friday night
Search my fucked up room for a pen, needing to write
Just a couplet like fiending for pipe, I’m sweating buckets
Found for lighters, five CDs, a couple ducats
Some old ass trees, said fuck it, went to sleep
Spit the whole verse in my dreams
Over the instrumental, come clean
No hook, no crowd participation
The spot was packed tight but it was like they were just waiting
The mic was just a white light to turn lyrics to visuals
And they eyes reflected the ritual
Mesmerized by words Biblical
Blood on the wall of the cave to record the hunt
I'm on stage with the half-lit blunt smell like bubble gum
Served it up in '96, remember that shit
Where son wore out his kicks on uptown blocks
Yeah n***as had the brick but stashed flight for personal spliff
On the last bar the beat stopped, I told Kane give me a beatbox
Like the lunchroom days, and he was there even though its been years
And he did it like that, and then I woke up

[Outro]
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