[Verse]
I get tired of n***as talking about the good ol' days
When they still owe me money
Laughing at my boss's jokes when ain't a damn thing funny
"Honey I'm home!" whisky in tummy
Recliner feels like a throne
Forty year old negro Al Bundy clone
Renting three bedrooms in the colored section
Three kids and not a day goes by I don't wish I used protection
Probably be paid in the shade, dicking bitches named Amy and Gretchen
Oh well! This Bud's for you
Chase shots with brew, brew with pot
Blunts with Newport smoke
You fuckin' kids better shut-up before I have to choke
The living shit
Back and forth to the bathroom to piss
By the end of the night incoherently mumbling
Stumbling in the bedroom like "fuck you, bitch"
Wake up and pretend nothing happened
That's marital bliss
But wait!
The DVD got special features
And DoD got them Schwarzenegger heaters
Choppers, egg beaters
Arms long enough to box with G.O.D
But the enemy watch for blasphemers
Roadside bomb blast cost your son his femurs
Went to Walter Reed and he ain’t want to see ya
Came back to the block, hot boys talking that Benz or a Beamer
Rims shining, chains binding, you could smell that good reefer
You're broke!
You're mad when they come home laughing off misdemeanors
And they don't like you neither
Call your daughter out her name like the average skeezer
And their bitches is bad, look like the Queen of Sheba
When you drinking, you get to thinking you might square them off like Little Caesars
Your woman said "chill" but that 100 proof had you nice
The negros lumped your grill and stabbed you with a knife
Punctured lung, shattered eye socket and just for fun
The young'uns ran your damn pockets