Lyrics Mick Jenkins – The Trees
Text:
The pink ring got a nigga feeling bossy
Spit it through the wire that’s flossy
Dark car seats
Gotta get it it’s critical fuck a critic
My, nigga, we heavy on the grind
Burdens like boulders and sitting so heavy on my mind
Curdled my shoulders from sitting so heavy in this shine
Take them chains off
Take the pain off
Let the levees break
Let’s piss Wayne off with the flow
Got a chainsaw for the tree and champagne flutes for the toast
It’s a celebration
We no strangers to degradation
Whatever you do partake in, the answer is elevation
Don’t get too high
People too dependent on luck
Get your house in order
We like two men and a truck
It’s a movement
Gotta keep it strategic
Gotta push the margins
Keep your paper collegiate
Free Nation for life!
I took a pledge of allegiance
Gotta look out for snakes
It’s like the garden of Eden, in my city fam!
Pretty lambs get played
Like pitty pat
They fade you out the back like bald fades
Your dark days be done
But to the fleas
Eat my knees
I’ll be running with you
Breaking bread with my peoples
Cause’ I want it with you
My nigga you see the trees
My nigga you see the leaves
Well homie, I see the roots
I’m only speaking the truth
And they hate that
And they hate that shit, my G!
Youngin’, been on his griggity-grind
Since nine-five
Skateboarding home from school
Cause’ moms’ work nine to five
And pops’, 10-57
That’s code
For missing persons
That’s cold
But no-one’s perfect
I fold
The bigger person
We cool
They lift the curtains just to see a young, black man
Blackjacking age
On the tracks
Stacking pages of that knowledge that they don’t acknowledge
That’s wiggity-whack, jack
Like aflac, I’m screaming at you
Why you niggas ducking out the way?
Probably cause’ you ducking through your days!
Dodging bullets from your dogs
Just to run into some strays
Cause’ them Ben Frankie Beverly’s
Got you running through a maze
In a daze where these little niggas
Kill for the hell of it
Always down to ride for the little shit they’ peddling
Hear the gun stutter like an ill speech impediment
Bet the verbs give your itch the chills
Chill, peep the rhetoric
Bet them curves have us rolling ’round
Chill, peep the medicine
That’s exactly what they came from
Ginger ale and Marijuana
Nice conversations sipping Zinfandel from Carolina
Everything is thrifted
Playing pin the tail on my designer
It’s 98!
Chill shit for my trill niggas
98
On my back I’m in this Hilfiger
Sealed liquor
Off in my truck I’m with the homies
Want no coppers catch me slippin’
On my pimpin’
I’m too ill nigga!
All you suckas just some lil’ niggas!
This rap shit just an amalgamation of a Southside nigga
91st. 79. 63rd
Fuck with me Famo!
Album
Mick Jenkins – Trees & Truths
