True Stories - Billy Woods

It be the same excuses, every time

It be the same excuses, every time

It be the same excuses, every time

It be the same excuses, every time

Old dog, new tricks

Lied through the teeth like toothpicks

Not one to face the music, just gave it a crude mix

If I’m in, the game fixed

Shifted blame, hedged all bets

Did my part

Left under cover of dark

Smart from the start, that nigga was building an arc

You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows

Over coffee and doughnuts, told them everything they wanted to know

Hey bruh, you know how it goes

If you didn’t now you know all too well

Why you mad son?

Do tell

Talk a good one but you right, I don’t want it

Not for nothin, first line of the sonnet

Talk like you never got you a shot

Nah nigga you fucked up a lot

Set my watch off you fuckin up

True stories Op

Tower of London plots

Say what you will but I always aim for the top

Need a fixin to come around the old block

But nostalgia ain’t my bag

Richard the Third with the words I took a drag

Crushed a roach on the curb

Cabs flagged

Gotta get up pretty early to jerk me

Whitey grinned as he took the briefcase

Said he never went to sleep in the first place