Billy Woods Hack Lyrics
Hack by Billy Woods
I hate driving at night
Just increase the chance Quality of Life gon' flash them misery lights
Stay home/write that Richard Price
But when the script don't flip/right back at it like a neighbor on the pipe
Pick up/drop off/pick up/drop off
It's just a job but you can't never knock off
Gettin' old, goin soft or just seeing things for what they are
I'ma die up in this car/hunched over the wheel with a big roll of small bills
Tray fulla ash/quarter tank of gas/dog eared photos tapes to the dash
18 years pushing this cab/from bush dimes to kush in the bag
Youthful crime to this is all I really have
Flash high beams on the boulevard of broken dreams/oh, you don't know it?
Last exit off the road to riches and diamond rings
[Hook]
Write the rhymes they wanna hear, right
Here, right?
They told me:
Woods, you need a new free project every month and a half and moving forward
The publicist only accepts cash
Something to think bout while I drive like when your connect retire
Introduce you to the new guy and he's twenty-five/hmmmmmmmmm
The meter runs/release reefer in lungs/now we're cooking with gas
Good times? I ain't have fun seems like errybody else had a blast
Your last tape was half-assed
Few weeks pass ya mans already got the microwave on rehash
That's what's hot on the local thoroughfares, huh? Fuck it, ill take you there
Red light/the beast just stare/watching you try to play it cool
Everybody plays the fool/sometimes/hit the corner like we playing pool
Sink the nine
Moving goalposts them folks change rules/no reason or rhyme
I compete with great vigor within the lines that are painted, nigga
Now I'm out here graveyardin'/narrow margins/pathetic pantomime
Grey Gardens
[Hook]
Just increase the chance Quality of Life gon' flash them misery lights
Stay home/write that Richard Price
But when the script don't flip/right back at it like a neighbor on the pipe
Pick up/drop off/pick up/drop off
It's just a job but you can't never knock off
Gettin' old, goin soft or just seeing things for what they are
I'ma die up in this car/hunched over the wheel with a big roll of small bills
Tray fulla ash/quarter tank of gas/dog eared photos tapes to the dash
18 years pushing this cab/from bush dimes to kush in the bag
Youthful crime to this is all I really have
Flash high beams on the boulevard of broken dreams/oh, you don't know it?
Last exit off the road to riches and diamond rings
[Hook]
Write the rhymes they wanna hear, right
Here, right?
They told me:
Woods, you need a new free project every month and a half and moving forward
The publicist only accepts cash
Something to think bout while I drive like when your connect retire
Introduce you to the new guy and he's twenty-five/hmmmmmmmmm
The meter runs/release reefer in lungs/now we're cooking with gas
Good times? I ain't have fun seems like errybody else had a blast
Your last tape was half-assed
Few weeks pass ya mans already got the microwave on rehash
That's what's hot on the local thoroughfares, huh? Fuck it, ill take you there
Red light/the beast just stare/watching you try to play it cool
Everybody plays the fool/sometimes/hit the corner like we playing pool
Sink the nine
Moving goalposts them folks change rules/no reason or rhyme
I compete with great vigor within the lines that are painted, nigga
Now I'm out here graveyardin'/narrow margins/pathetic pantomime
Grey Gardens
[Hook]