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California Games
Armand Hammer; The Alchemist; Earl Sweatshirt
Popularity ยท Low
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
Bilingual
Yeah
What makes mice out of many a man
I don't think strikes is bottomless
Promises have been the quarter that
Broke the pattern and I noticed I'm always on edge
The homies was saying don't even spazz
The ceiling is glass, we already cracked it
Give it a stamp, reseal up the package
We shipping it back, it wasn't too shabby
But was it your best?
No stress, I'm not even asking
OT like Barnum and Bailey's
Nothing changed much, hounding bag
Home team in the Cressida tan, treat that boy like the jester he is
English on it, perfected the spin
I watch most of the message get missed
Pressure on me, can't prep or pretend
Pardon my absence, peer into the past
My ass got whooped like one of the Jackson's Warrior path
The Man in the Mirror with action
I don't need to ask
I ain't in the trap, the rats in the precinct singing like Toni Braxton
I don't need to stab, but I keep one handy
Only the family
Clandestine handgun, view to a kill
Sub-star confession
Where ocean kiss canyon
Every knee had kneeled through where I'm standing
Gutted, built to spill, wild without abandon
I don't pocket-watch or dig my hands in
Swiss Movement engraved with Sanskrit
Genie in the bottle, dirty dancing rancid
Take off my pants one leg at a time too
Done scrambling, make your move
Talk slanted
Maybe two or three more for weak niggas you ran with
Stranded
I smoke on your confusion, cold lamping
48 hours on the rental, six hours on the plane
California games in the bag and '68 in the shade
I could go mad and take something for the pain
I only came back to tell you about those flames, boy
(Only came back to tell you about them-)
Wire frames and tape across broken nose
Wiretap in broken home
Fire happens, fire grows, fire burns, fire knows
Throats slit, this business pimps and hos
The settlers kill 'em slow if not softly
The eggs and parsley a cup of coffee
Coughing, "Get these motherfuckers up off me, Lord"
It was always fourth down, splitting center
Sickness and the symptom
Sixth sense, stars pointed at people, not conditions
Fingers twist up
If you could just make it through the winter twice bitten
Hers was sweet, mine's more bitter
Worth the wait, darkness always was
In this life I had to be creative
With sour malice, my daughter's power ballads ring 'cross barren fields
Strung with the devil's rope
Gave the dead hope
The living weep, peeping in the telescope
Light leak in the photo
God's feet on they throat
You really went up backwards up the escalator, man
Chill man, I don't want you to harp on this shit
I was pushing it, man, like what we used to be able to do
And I missed that! I miss that I can't just go play ball and do whatever, I miss it, man!
Let's not... c'mon man, playing ball and going the wrong way-
It's the same ath-, it's the same as a pickup game!
Trying to go up a down escalator is a different story, man
It's like a pickup game
It isn't a pickup game
Yes it is
A pickup game is for fun
I felt young!
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