Everybody's Fine - Skyzoo

Celebratory moments of a glass or a bottle in the air

Or a flask and a shotti with a flare

And the bag coming out when one appears

Or the flash of a body in the stairs

And the crash of a lobby in despair,

Or.

moments where you getting patted on the ground

That then turn into badges on the ground,

And the irony of reversing a role where whenever they roll

Bet that they know that’s whatever for them now,

'Cause now is a scene where a stream is interrupted

By conclusion jumping and dumping into a seat

Where a dream is sitting in overdrive so taking over the drive

Turns into 12 acquitting the screams, or 12 acquitting what they believe,

Until they’re in the crowd banking on what another 12 perceives

Or celebratory moments of a scale being off to the left

So you cop and get more than you expect

And the rest goes off to the cost of looking like you’re involved

So you back to spending more with your connect,

Connecting like interlocking the latch

When a latch key is cocking it back

Knowing a latch leads to how to react,

And the reaction is counter react,

It gets complicated like confiscating the lottery back,

It comps a way in like finding a pack,

Or it comps a weigh in like you was conned into buying it back,

Back tracking to the moments that inspired the toast,

To the half gallon of Henny for supplying you hope,

Til you’re back to backing the semi from inside of your coat,

Either that, or standing on the other side of the scope,

Or, it’s a celebration of being nowhere near where that aim is,

Trigger fingers turn to «ations,

Same fingers boxing you in will leave you vacant,

Round of applause down the hall for all your patience,

Or you in a hall, up on the wall,

With department of corrections letters hovered up over where your name is,

Or you by the door, cap and gown to the floor,

8 years of proof hovered up over where your name sits,

Draw you to the crown, they sell it to you as weightless

And charge you to sit on their wait list,

Then you fast forward, private parking the Porsche, open the doors

To a round of applause down the hall from all your patients,

Fists in the air over mistakes, or fists in the air over the jakes

Being vision impaired holding a tre,

And that tre pound lift up the fear from out his face

And you vision impaired over a wake,

For the face that the jakes pinned as being a nigga

So he gives him everything that he thinks a nigga should take,

And you ask him how he spell it and he responds

«Please make up your mind, you niggas is either niggas or you ain’t»,

All black everything, Bobby Seale fit with a tre

While I’m untwisting my chains,

Celebratory moments of a glass or a bottle in the air

Or a flask and a shotti with a flare

And the bag coming out when one appears

Or the flash of a body in the stairs

And the crash of a lobby in despair,

Recalled by the store til the morn' while you borrowing a square

And they’re watching what you hear, but everybody’s fine…