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• Artiste: Dose One
• Titre: Gold Teeth Will Roll
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What is this place? These men with gold where their words break and they end their time keeping nothing but stones and fool gold stones worth the weight of ten working class winters lending kids to the skull in their wish if there was one What is this place? Where greed came into all the mouths like empty does the chest and spoke nothings in the pitch of street and the worn heart of a hound a dim machine twitching in the chest of potential hidden beneath the scar-tissue strength a bar-bell'd built Who will come kill me? When I call these men milk made of weak fat with numb as they dish dung to the hunger It is an echo of yourself in the world that you're hearing them yell Who will come kill me? Taking their rings off like women because I will swear on their weakness They are the gun sons of what's done latter day knights weakened at the bone with the weight of their poor words A lot of riskless nights turning a coin around in their throats lips leaking the poison eating at the honor of rap forcing the blood from the cunning of kids from the future of things So they are starved for the gristle of meaning that which can be gnashed between teeth and never ate only passed So I call them I call them lambs to the lion they steal from and sic my pen on their thinnest of ghosts and know they don't wake and take bullets with water like vitamins even savage with mornings dagger the side of their face with the rising sun No, they sleep hard in a silk thicket and the cured skin of the scared and spent And I know they will be but ribs in the dirt the sound of their songs becoming muds in a landfill eyes filled with a crowd of maggots And the young go numb to the played bones of your weakness across the only once of what's done gangster of trifles throw out your gold teeth and see how they roll licking your wounds in a white king's lap falling in love with all guns For rappers, there is no hell there is only fans and you willl go there and you will be cut from the cave where your words sour to the edge of your ears and then strung and then made to move with the grace of what's puppet till you're cut from the cave where your words sour to the soles of your feet and then fed through a fire to the dusk of what's done to the absence you grew circa your birth and a death your eyes filled with a crowd of maggots and mud jewelry loose on your bones like you were on your meaning