Somethin' for the Kids - Astronautalis

Me and Fat Joe were riding in the back

Of an industrial-strength delivery van

I couldn’t catch a clear view of the driver’s face

But I could tell it wasn’t a feminine friend

The ground plans for battle were all laid

We were just taking some time to kick it, eat grapes and parlay

It was just him and me in a van with the gate to gay

We taste the grapes and spit the seeds in the street

The highway was a scalpel splicing the sands

An impressive impression of man’s demand for the connection of lands

I look back at Joe and laugh

I give the grapes a puff and a pass spitting another seed out of the back

Joe squints his eyes

Lets out a sound that can only be described as a laughter and sigh, combined

His pale olive fingers pry another one of the fruits off the vine

«We should return here in ten years time.»

I ask him why

«So we can drink the wine from the orchard that is grown from the seeds we

alone cast aside.»

As the sun sunk lower on the sand, dust sprayed from the tires

The wind picked up the grains displayed them in spirals

And I held the last grape up to eclipse the sun

The breeze plucked it from my fingers and the lunch was done

Father was an engine driver

Grandpa fought the war

Hope that I can maybe size up

Leave my mark at all

Father was an engine driver

Grandpa fought the war

Hope that I can maybe size up

Leave my mark at all

Me and 2Pac Shakur sat inside a donut shop

Sharing a dozen and watching the coffee cool

One by one the box slowly emptied

From the cakes to the crullers and at last the fancies

Pac sighed aloud so I could hear him

«Donuts are communism»

I asked him why, he said

«Better in theory»

We laughed and scratched the sleep from our eyes

He said, «This is ridiculous, 12 is too much, half a dozen wastes our time

But every time we order twelve thinking we can handle it

And every time we end up pissed because we made our stomachs sick"

We both laugh a bit and gingerly sip our coffee

His fingers scrape the tabletop and he digs in softly

And I watch him there, carving, scraping, both sitting in silence

As he engraves his name with the word «West side» beside it

And underneath the orange veneer of the donut shop gear

There’s an earthy brown flesh that excavation makes appear

And year after year Pac and I return there

To the table that he claimed with the matching bench chairs

Chug the last of our coffee and stand to leave

Wave to the clerk, she says goodbye in Chinese

Clutching our sick stomachs we both struggle to speak

Shake our heads, split our ways, and say, «See you next week»

Father was an engine driver

Grandpa fought the war

Hope that I can maybe size up

Leave my mark at all

Father was an engine driver

Grandpa fought the war

Hope that I can maybe size up

Leave my mark at all

Father was an engine driver

Grandpa fought the war

Hope that I can maybe size up

Leave my mark at all

Father was an engine driver

Grandpa fought the war

Hope that I can maybe size up

You can sing along

Father was an engine driver

Grandpa fought the war

Hope that I can maybe size up

Leave my mark at all

Father was an engine driver

Grandpa fought the war

Hope that I can maybe size up

Leave my mark at all