Released: August 2, 2019
Songwriter: Earl Sweatshirt
Producer: RandomBlackDude
[Verse]
Give until I can't give
I lend a hand if it's needed
But these stabs got me bleeding out my back, kid
Uh, keep it on the fumble, we could sack shit
Hat trick, we considered Mulligan's for that shit
The proof is in the pudding and the pamphlets
The sewer and the mattress, stupid nigga, you could get it
Uh, only thing certain is these taxes
Burn me when the journey ends
Clergyman, turn me into ashes
I move surgically, with new sermons for the masses
We too purpose for the scraps
What the verdict read, is that courtesy of shit circumstances
The earth is my turf but the hearse like a magnet
I'll be outside in some handcuffs, I'll be outside in the dirt, uh
Gentrifies, got your turf getting hacked up
Late nights, thinking 'bout who lied to me first
Graveyard energy, I'm tied to the job
Strictly based off principle
My inner jit grinnin', but my face all twisted
It's the artist at work
Greyhound tickets and some haze on my missus
No, it make no sense to keep my heart on my shirt
But when the rain storm's vicious, spend the day blowing, drinking
Trying to harvest the hurt, but it make no difference
Give until I can't give
I lend a hand if it's needed
But these stabs got me bleeding out my back, kid
Uh, keep it on the fumble, we could sack shit
Hat trick, we considered Mulligan's for that shit
The proof is in the pudding and the pamphlets
The sewer and the mattress, stupid nigga, you could get it
Uh, only thing certain is these taxes
Burn me when the journey ends
Clergyman, turn me into ashes
I move surgically, with new sermons for the masses
We too purpose for the scraps
What the verdict read, is that courtesy of shit circumstances
The earth is my turf but the hearse like a magnet
I'll be outside in some handcuffs, I'll be outside in the dirt, uh
Gentrifies, got your turf getting hacked up
Late nights, thinking 'bout who lied to me first
Graveyard energy, I'm tied to the job
Strictly based off principle
My inner jit grinnin', but my face all twisted
It's the artist at work
Greyhound tickets and some haze on my missus
No, it make no sense to keep my heart on my shirt
But when the rain storm's vicious, spend the day blowing, drinking
Trying to harvest the hurt, but it make no difference