| Song | Back Home The Return |
| Artist | Common Market |
| Album | Tobacco Road |
| I’m hollerin’ at your feminine side, is it or isn’t it genuine? | |
| Let women decide, for men will ever judge from within this | |
| Minute in time, and the standard I’m held to is | |
| From another planet, I landed here when mine fell through | |
| Alienated by no paleontological ties | |
| But never is this kid discredited by the honorable | |
| All rise, son – the sun presides, the abominable | |
| Find it comical I call my shine beyond nominal, uh | |
| My handle fine-tuned to channel 19 | |
| Address my living letter is better left unsigned | |
| Though punctual, no wonder you’re some kind of comfortable | |
| Stomach full of lunch-line chuck and junk food | |
| Empty calories will soon catch up, comments are | |
| Covered in condiments, son it must have been my fat gene’s dominant | |
| Common represents the conjugate that heaven sent to compliment | |
| The veteran’s accomplishment, the conscious honor it, but | |
| Whispers of them do us like we’re disingenuous, like | |
| You only rock it for the paper that’s thrown | |
| As if this is an end to my condition of indigence | |
| Nah, we holdin’ stock in something sacred as stone | |
| So when victims of insolence rise above the influence | |
| I open the flock to those who made it alone | |
| It’s the mission of men who just write despite ignorance | |
| Yo, with swollen pockets we gon’ take it back home | |
| SCRATCH HOOK: | |
| This goes out to all my people in the city (repeated) | |
| Where we don’t get caught up in between with the nonsense | |
| This goes out to all my people in the city (repeated) | |
| Never worryin’ about grief | |
| Define your residence, if these 4 walls simply shelter you from elements | |
| I recommend you get out more | |
| Off base you face a down pour, catch a taste of what the | |
| Town’s renowned for, these spates will drown y’all | |
| Slick and precipitous, I’m bloodied up, to the | |
| City of Brotherly Love, 206 is the antithesis | |
| My tolerance is type ridiculous, though I | |
| Continuously seek forgiveness for the shit I wished upon you | |
| A disservice to mom dukes – she raised me better | |
| For her baby, set a greater precedent to gage and measure success | |
| And I know she will never love me no less | |
| But you sycophants are sick, ugly and grotesque | |
| I’m amongst the monstrous who breathe fire out the nostrils | |
| Akin to conquerors you read about in the gospels | |
| Inhospitable are the Pontius, Pilate the prefect | |
| These Sea-dwellin’ fellas aint accepted me yet | |
| So I stay on my biz and if he play the periphery he | |
| Control the block around the space them cats own | |
| I see this state of misery as the greatest gift to me, yo | |
| My golden op will be escapin’ that drone | |
| See I’m a late epiphany, uh, away from mendicancy | |
| I told ‘em stop it, son – don’t wait for that loan | |
| I heard they say it’s trickery, but we’re makin’ history | |
| Yo, with swollen pockets we gon’ take it back home | |
| SCRATCH HOOK: | |
| This goes out to all my people in the city (repeated) | |
| Where we don’t get caught up in between with the nonsense | |
| This goes out to all my people in the city (repeated) | |
| Never worryin’ about grief |
| I' m hollerin' at your feminine side, is it or isn' t it genuine? | |
| Let women decide, for men will ever judge from within this | |
| Minute in time, and the standard I' m held to is | |
| From another planet, I landed here when mine fell through | |
| Alienated by no paleontological ties | |
| But never is this kid discredited by the honorable | |
| All rise, son the sun presides, the abominable | |
| Find it comical I call my shine beyond nominal, uh | |
| My handle finetuned to channel 19 | |
| Address my living letter is better left unsigned | |
| Though punctual, no wonder you' re some kind of comfortable | |
| Stomach full of lunchline chuck and junk food | |
| Empty calories will soon catch up, comments are | |
| Covered in condiments, son it must have been my fat gene' s dominant | |
| Common represents the conjugate that heaven sent to compliment | |
| The veteran' s accomplishment, the conscious honor it, but | |
| Whispers of them do us like we' re disingenuous, like | |
| You only rock it for the paper that' s thrown | |
| As if this is an end to my condition of indigence | |
| Nah, we holdin' stock in something sacred as stone | |
| So when victims of insolence rise above the influence | |
| I open the flock to those who made it alone | |
| It' s the mission of men who just write despite ignorance | |
| Yo, with swollen pockets we gon' take it back home | |
| SCRATCH HOOK: | |
| This goes out to all my people in the city repeated | |
| Where we don' t get caught up in between with the nonsense | |
| This goes out to all my people in the city repeated | |
| Never worryin' about grief | |
| Define your residence, if these 4 walls simply shelter you from elements | |
| I recommend you get out more | |
| Off base you face a down pour, catch a taste of what the | |
| Town' s renowned for, these spates will drown y' all | |
| Slick and precipitous, I' m bloodied up, to the | |
| City of Brotherly Love, 206 is the antithesis | |
| My tolerance is type ridiculous, though I | |
| Continuously seek forgiveness for the shit I wished upon you | |
| A disservice to mom dukes she raised me better | |
| For her baby, set a greater precedent to gage and measure success | |
| And I know she will never love me no less | |
| But you sycophants are sick, ugly and grotesque | |
| I' m amongst the monstrous who breathe fire out the nostrils | |
| Akin to conquerors you read about in the gospels | |
| Inhospitable are the Pontius, Pilate the prefect | |
| These Seadwellin' fellas aint accepted me yet | |
| So I stay on my biz and if he play the periphery he | |
| Control the block around the space them cats own | |
| I see this state of misery as the greatest gift to me, yo | |
| My golden op will be escapin' that drone | |
| See I' m a late epiphany, uh, away from mendicancy | |
| I told ' em stop it, son don' t wait for that loan | |
| I heard they say it' s trickery, but we' re makin' history | |
| Yo, with swollen pockets we gon' take it back home | |
| SCRATCH HOOK: | |
| This goes out to all my people in the city repeated | |
| Where we don' t get caught up in between with the nonsense | |
| This goes out to all my people in the city repeated | |
| Never worryin' about grief |