Unwritten - The Roots, Mercedes Martinez

When I think about perfect times

I think about yesterday

You can asked me about the future

I don’t know what to say

Tomorrow’s story’s unknown

So listen

It’s almost anyone’s guess

Unwritten

When I think about perfect times

I think about yesterday

You can ask me about the future

I don’t know what to say

It’s almost anyone’s guess

Yo It was a cold night

Not cold like the winter

Just cold like a energy was in the air

I generally don’t like

The driver had to dip, so he left me in the whip

Turned around and said, («You know you’re on your own, right?»)

I’m the zone like

There’s pictures on the wall of my own life

Just like a drive-in

Only it’s live, and this a montage of the places I been

My sixth sense taste the problem

The sus-pense had my heart racin', throbbin'

Just like a young punk with a tape revolver

Pointed at the driver of a car, faced to rob him

The cigarettes chased the vodka

The nigga just chased the dream but won’t taste the monster

The son won’t face the father

The gun won’t erase the drama

While you’re waitin', the time’s up