Indian Summer

Album cover art for "Indian Summer" by The Alchemist

The Alchemist - Rap, Hip-Hop

Indian Summer

21.2K Plays

Duration: 2:40

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Lyrics

[Intro: Barry White] You understand me? Couldn't read music or write it No connections, no car, no money No bankroll, no clothes, no nothin' All I had was the will and the love for music [Verse 1: billy woods] I swore vengeance in the seventh grade Not on one man, the whole human race I'm almost done, God be praised I'm almost done, erry debt gets paid I used to cut grass and smile like I meant it We squatted in the shade when the mowers overheated Came home stinkin' of gas in the evening It wasn't any one thing, it was the sequence The intoxication of countin' cash in secret The secret hiding places where you keep it, intimate The strip malls, the dealerships Six lanes across, shit job at the end of it I knew what was up once they said "Come inside the office" Palmetto bugs flutter, the size of saucers Clumsy, fuckers spin inside they coffins Pluckin' guitar strings, Orpheus outside the fortress MDC Brooklyn, the rats is gorgin' Kill one, only bring more and more like dead explorers I put a neat hole in Indiana Jones' fedora For that Somali Torah, we lit up the night like Sodom and Gomorrah Left out, face forward [Interlude: Barry White] I don't wanna disturb your thoughts I don't wanna disturb your mood When I give you one that I feel you might like I wanna make sure you get enough of it [Verse 2: E L U C I D] Pineapple spears on the bias, high science Spiritual alliances, it's a vibe, right? Gene splice, kettle whistle Qadry Ismail, The Missile Sky face wistful, I had a fistful of fucks ground to the gristle Conditions and stipulation, past the need for affirmation By activation, iridescent black, back to basic I told her "Taste it", obliged and gracious Consent enthusiastic, splash, catch this As if, black script, my last grift Dumbfound myth, run wild wind, just past the line You won't gun down the son, I done told you again Stiff necked, gimme mine Press start, supercharged, stacked deck, cut the middle Fast and pray for rain, but just a trickle Clean your own pistol, I can't walk them dogs with you, ah

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Credits

Writers
  • ​billy woods
  • E L U C I D
  • The Alchemist