Billy Woods Bill Cosby Lyrics

[Intro]

I get tired of niggas talking about the "good old days"
When they still owe me money
Laughing at my bars and jokes when ain't a damn thing funny
"Honey I'm home!" whisky in tummy
Recliner feels like the throne
Forty year old negro Al Bundy clone
Renting three bedrooms in the colored section
Three kids and not a day goes by that I don't wish I used protection
Probably be paid in the shade dicking bitches named Amy and Gretchen
Oh well! This Bud's for you
Taste shots in the brew, brew with the pot
Blunts with Newport smoke

You f*ckin' kids better shut-up before I have to choke
The living shit
Back and forth to the bathroom to piss
By the end of the night incoherently mumbling
Stumbling in the bedroom like "f*ck you bitch"
Wake up and pretend nothing happened
That's marital bliss
But wait!
The DVD's got special features
And D.O.D got them Schwarzenegger heaters Choppers, egg beaters
Arms long enough to box with G.O.D
But the M.E. watch for blasphemers
Roadside bomb blast cost your son his femurs
Went to Walter Reed and he ain't want to see ya

Came back to the block, hot boys talking that Benz or a Beamer
Rims shining, chain body, you can smell that good reefer
You're broke
You're mad when they come home laughing off misdemeanours
And they don't like you neither
Call your daughter out a name like the average skeezer
And their bitches is bad, look like the Queen of Sheba
When you drinking you get to thinking you might square them off like Little Caesars
Your woman said "chill" but that hundred proof had you nice
The negros lumped you, real they stabbed you with the knife
Punctured lung, shattered eye socket and just for fun
The young'uns ran your damn pockets

(sirens)

[Outro]