California Games (feat. Earl Sweatshirt)

Lyrics for California Games (feat. Earl Sweatshirt)

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!