Corner Store
๐ต 2322 characters
โฑ๏ธ 2:54 duration
๐ ID: 23568720
๐ Lyrics
Fridge is bone-dry, stomach's talking to me louder than the damn landlord.
Just need some milk, maybe bread, the shit you take for granted.
But the corner store ain't 'round no corner, it's a fckin' expedition.
Gotta lace my Timbs up tight, switch my mind to combat-mission.
Peekin' through the blinds, sun is setting, casting shadows on the piss-stained walls.
Same old fckers on the corner, makin' deals and guttural calls.
They ain't your friendly neighbours, nah, they're wolves in worn-out tracksuits.
Gotta walk the gauntlet, play the game, avoid the fckin' trapshoots.
Pull my beanie down low, can't show no fear in my expression.
This ain't a walk in the park, it's urban natural selection.
Hood on my head, eyes straight, I walk the line.
Every step on this cracked concrete is a fckin' landmine.
It's just a trip to the store, yeah, a simple goddamn need.
But in this jungle, you gotta watch your back or you will bleed.
This ain't no paradise, nah, this is the concrete-aisle.
Gotta get the goods and make it back, survive another while.
Past the boarded-up windows where the dreamers used to live.
Now it's just a hollow shell, this neighbourhood don't forgive.
See some young bucks, barely kids, eyes older than their own damn fathers.
Playin' tough with hands in pockets, surrounded by their self-made borders.
I give 'em a slow nod, a sign of mutual, grim respect.
We all know the rules out here, the causes and the fckin' effects.
A cop car cruises by, slow and heavy like a shark.
They ain't protectin' shit, they're just enjoyin' the park.
My heart ain't pounding, it's just... steady. A dull, familiar drum.
Numb to the chaos, that's how you gotta be to not become another one of the fckin' bums.
I see the flickering sign ahead, the 'Bodega' light is buzzin'.
Almost there, just twenty yards of no-man's-land and dirty dozen.
Hood on my head, eyes straight, I walk the line.
Every step on this cracked concrete is a fckin' landmine.
It's just a trip to the store, yeah, a simple goddamn need.
But in this jungle, you gotta watch your back or you will bleed.
This ain't no paradise, nah, this is the concrete-aisle.
Gotta get the goods and make it back, survive another while.
Yeah... Just a trip to the store.
Get the milk. Get the bread.
Get the fck back home.
Survive another while.
Just another day.
Just need some milk, maybe bread, the shit you take for granted.
But the corner store ain't 'round no corner, it's a fckin' expedition.
Gotta lace my Timbs up tight, switch my mind to combat-mission.
Peekin' through the blinds, sun is setting, casting shadows on the piss-stained walls.
Same old fckers on the corner, makin' deals and guttural calls.
They ain't your friendly neighbours, nah, they're wolves in worn-out tracksuits.
Gotta walk the gauntlet, play the game, avoid the fckin' trapshoots.
Pull my beanie down low, can't show no fear in my expression.
This ain't a walk in the park, it's urban natural selection.
Hood on my head, eyes straight, I walk the line.
Every step on this cracked concrete is a fckin' landmine.
It's just a trip to the store, yeah, a simple goddamn need.
But in this jungle, you gotta watch your back or you will bleed.
This ain't no paradise, nah, this is the concrete-aisle.
Gotta get the goods and make it back, survive another while.
Past the boarded-up windows where the dreamers used to live.
Now it's just a hollow shell, this neighbourhood don't forgive.
See some young bucks, barely kids, eyes older than their own damn fathers.
Playin' tough with hands in pockets, surrounded by their self-made borders.
I give 'em a slow nod, a sign of mutual, grim respect.
We all know the rules out here, the causes and the fckin' effects.
A cop car cruises by, slow and heavy like a shark.
They ain't protectin' shit, they're just enjoyin' the park.
My heart ain't pounding, it's just... steady. A dull, familiar drum.
Numb to the chaos, that's how you gotta be to not become another one of the fckin' bums.
I see the flickering sign ahead, the 'Bodega' light is buzzin'.
Almost there, just twenty yards of no-man's-land and dirty dozen.
Hood on my head, eyes straight, I walk the line.
Every step on this cracked concrete is a fckin' landmine.
It's just a trip to the store, yeah, a simple goddamn need.
But in this jungle, you gotta watch your back or you will bleed.
This ain't no paradise, nah, this is the concrete-aisle.
Gotta get the goods and make it back, survive another while.
Yeah... Just a trip to the store.
Get the milk. Get the bread.
Get the fck back home.
Survive another while.
Just another day.