| [Verse 1: Daveed Diggs] | |
| Wa-lah! | |
| Pullin' rabbit food out of parker | |
| Carrots catch the light right, up the block from the farmer | |
| He got that lettuce, that cabbage, that broccoli | |
| Tryin' to catch a fire | |
| Locks like Marley | |
| That Chevy frame rattling like a Caribbean roof-top in the rain, and the window panes wiggle following suit | |
| And the black suites sell bean pies, and the cream suites shout soap box | |
| And the lime-green suites send angles to the streets with botox (Shh) | |
| Don't talk | |
| Cuz there's rollers in the corner (whoop!) | |
| Football on the blacktop | |
| Little C rush the quarter | |
| Five alligator, six alligator, seven alligator, car! | |
| Game on, till the street lights came on | |
| Crowd out by the Save-On | |
| Paper bags 'round tall cans, talkin' that old manishness like | |
| "Man, when I was 22 I woulda coulda used to be the ****t!" | |
| Or the high-waisted bikini model standee | |
| Two eleven in penny candy | |
| [Hook] | |
| It's a storm comin' | |
| Everybody inside | |
| It's a war comin' | |
| Stack your bread, get high | |
| Gotta pour somethin' | |
| Out for the homies | |
| Turn that beat up | |
| Get loaded | |
| It's a murder on the outside, everybody inside | |
| Murder on the outside, everybody inside | |
| Murder on the outside, everybody inside | |
| Inside out now, lock n' load, lets ride | |
| [Verse 2] | |
| Donald Duck, Sunny D, Tampico, Capri-Sun | |
| Orange couch, plastic wrap, what's happening re-run | |
| Oak frame hologram Jesus portrait | |
| Brown **** carpet, broken screen door to the back porch | |
| Tykes in the toilet gurgle every six minutes like clock-work | |
| Grandfather's clock not working | |
| Great grandmama's Crock Pot chocked full of stew meat | |
| 'Who, me?' said a speech bubble on a dog on a Sunday morning comic | |
| Clipped and stuck up to the fridge with big chip bag magnet | |
| Big chips stacked in the armoire | |
| Behind glass, where the dominoes and the Bicycle cards are | |
| And the thick, yellow and crystal tumblers | |
| One sits on the table | |
| With a single ice cube melting into a thimble full of Jack Daniels | |
| The telephone receiver hangs | |
| Swingin' by the cord | |
| And the front door is swingin' | |
| Wide open, accordingly | |
| And that big block engine turnin' over in the Caprice | |
| That's peelin' out of the driveway, lettin' the tires schreech | |
| [Hook] | |
| [Verse 3] | |
| Orange cones and yellow tape | |
| Palm trees swayin', passers by all look the other way | |
| Nobody speak to police this or any other day | |
| They comb the streets, knock door to door asking for mother's sake | |
| Trying to catch another break | |
| Body on the pavement 'bout 10 steps from the front porch | |
| Photographer snappin' pics to go with the coroners report | |
| Of the seven exit wounds, three in the skull four in the torso | |
| Blood spread dry, red black red snapback even more so | |
| Lays three paces to the south | |
| The direction of the wind | |
| New deputy pissed picking up shell casings again | |
| Finds one in the browning grass by the sagging four foot high chain link fence | |
| Drops it in a bag marked 'Evidence' | |
| Here come that Caprice again | |
| Rolling too slow up the street men sit four deep in | |
| They seats and slow up by the scene, bandanas hide they faces | |
| But all they heads are shakin' | |
| They nod in unison and hit the coroner without breakin' | |
| [Hook] |
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