Zulu Tolstoy

Lyrics for Zulu Tolstoy

Wrote a story about a rapper writing a story Rap about his shorty, tryna rap his way up out the trap Plenty hoes, gats, run-of-the-mill, but flow ill, Voice old cognac He'd say, "No homo" if this was his track So I'm writing about him, writing about him, writing about that Felt it fell flat, took a break, but he kept going like "Sorry, B, I got an album to rap" Two decent 16s, chorus cooked crack Ended up not using it, not like it was wack Just something off with the hats Producer caught feelings, took the beat back Tape bricked bad, he quit, mad Meanwhile, shorty from his song still rapping, buzzin' This really might happen, taking meetings in Manhattan Single has traction, hip-Hop cops tryna catch him packing Dusty old warrants dug out file cabinets That's that good hate every time the phone ring Might could be Drake Missed South by whitey wouldn't let him out the state Stayed home at the gate Wrote a hook on his phone and knew right away it was fucking great The Good book says that he that lives by the sword, shall perish by the sword Said the black, what right man would have it any other way? It makes no difference what men think of war War endures, as well ask men what they think of stone War was always here before man was War waited for him