Body of Work - Billy Woods, Masai Bey, Roc Marciano

Breaking rocks out here on a chain gang

Breaking rocks, serving my time

Breaking rocks out here on a chain gang

Working, but I still got so

Far to go

Aging at the edge of an ageless void

Too old to be young and too young to be old

Or young enough to be paranoid

I’m just flowing with the waves to stay afloat

Paddling on a board while praying for a boat

And some rope but I’ll settle for a mic cord

Center of the seesaw, mamma told me I was very wealthy

Depending on your definition of rich and the way you see poor

I’m a Father and still a Sun

On the middle of the road bopping like I got no place to go

And some place to come

Positive warns me of the deceptions of negative

Negative is trying to convince me to believe positive is a sedative

I pondered this and learned that they both are relative to life on Earth

And sometimes feels like a repetitive burn

Ashes to ashes held captive in the urn

The ink embroidered, black exploited, crackers bought it

Crack was boiling, niggas balling, clientele calling

My Excel fishtail like a dolphin, instead of talking

Money’s corporate, progress forward, bunnies is gorgeous

Picture me selling 20's on some '94 shit

Cutting dummies on porcelain, all my jewelry is frosted

Pigs is on corners more often, I’m feeling exhausted

I pray my sins don’t fall upon my offspring

Grown-man pants, wallets and ID’s

Health insurance policies, Wallabees and collard greens

Eating right, these the finer things in life

I see your ring in the light, everything that bling ain’t ice

Niggas think that they nice, scat-rapping in tights

That math isn’t right, this is rapper’s delight

Now I’m through packaging white, rap with the passion of Christ

Don’t get the facts half-right, yeah

Breaking rocks out here on a chain gang

Breaking rocks, serving my time

Breaking rocks out here on a chain gang

Working, but I still got so

Terribly far to go

Work my land, slash and burn

Elephant hands, every callus earned

With hoe and machete, wet earth turn

Deep in the dirt, king of the worm

Hyenas circle, cackle, blood curdle

Night dark as pitch

I’m up when the sky’s purple

Tapping ashes off clips

Left the shebeen with her and said, «do your dance quick»

Now c’mon baby, tell me what’s the word

Green thumb, no metal fingers but I’m still living off special herbs

Callaloo and cassava, big ganja

Aiming at Impalas

They came at dusk, wearing balaclavas

«You die today for the sins of your fathers»

Is it really stealing when you robbing from robbers?

Is it actually fake when you already posing as impostors?

Shoot the Boer, Kill the Farmer

Crack that Cape lobster

Boiling in Durban with poison, red dirt soiling

Black bodies toiling, mambas coiling

Overnight, that sweet milk spoiling