Twenty Eight

Lyrics for Twenty Eight

Twenty-eight grams in an ounce, break it down Sixteen ounces in a pound, double that Round it up about ten thou Once you take away the rent nothing left in the account Add it up while I bag it up in the lounge Next to my son watching cartoons on the couch Round about four to five deep in an ounce Hitting on about two to three years in a cell But I'll be out in one, wonder if I was brown Would I get the same amount of time for the same amount? It ain't hard to tell and it ain't hard to sell Work a forty-hour week for a box and a pouch Round about fifteen years on at Aucks Small town about the size of a roundabout Where the number one killer of a man is himself The poor cooking meth, rich cooking the accounts In the rat race there ain't no straight way out Bout nine hundred thou for a two-bedroom house Thirteen million hectares stolen by the crown It's a crime to sell a tree but it's cool to sell a cow Twenty-four hours in a day Take away eight worth of work, what's that make? I finish 'round six, tell the miss I'm on the way But I'm late, doing twenty k on the motorway By the time it take me to make it home it's half eight Never even get to see the sun on my sons face Six hours sleep to bed I lay awake Trying to calculate how much left I got to waste The court case is two months away, smoking two blunts a day Rolled a stub, and puff til my two lungs deflate Til you flush the chain ain't no point just complaining Friends that I wish were still with us today For three words I thought I was too tough to say Got twenty in the safe, twelve beers in the case So here's to the old place, cheers to the days Fucking round, counting grey hairs on my face I got one of them for every wasted year on the ways Haunted by the countless mistakes that I made But it's said the real destination's the chase Might end up in a cage tryna save for a place This rat race is nothing but a race to the grave, bruv