Bill Cosby - Billy Woods

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 fuckin' 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 «fuck 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)