Black Milk - Sunday's Best Lyrics
[Verse 1]Ayo, rise in the AM – early morning laying, I just wanna stay inI just wanna lay in – pops like “get your ass up, stop the faking”“We already late, and ..”Sunday morning waking, faking like my stomach’s achingMoms pull out clothes just for Sunday’s best occasionBowtie, no lie, church shoes was aching80-degree weather in a blazer, body blazingAlready can’t wait until this day endJust a little nigga that would rather be home video-gamingNow we on our way in - deacon speakingPreacher preaching to that congregation, mason (mason...mason)Minds wandering off, not hearing that man of the clothTalk about that man on the crossNow we back to prayingOld ladies with church fans screaming out ''amen''Looking at that painting on the stained glassWatching while that collection plate passTithes, offering, to me it’s all the same cashFast forward, got older – a younging that’s gone badLet me rephrase that, a younging that went down that wrong pathNo matter how religious moms or pops wasSteal at the counters, went to cop some (I was young)Product of that environment I was inOnce I left that front door, I could have been out of hereBullets flying is the norm, so most kids walk without a fearFriends dying is the norm, so they walk without a tearRather tat it on their face - to who’s? WaitWhile the old head is yellin’ “it’s never too late”[Bridge]Too late, too late, too late, too lateToo late, too late, too late, too lateToo late, too late, too late, too lateToo late, too late, too late, too lateToo late, too late, too late, too lateToo late, too late, too late, too late[Hook]It’s never too late to get your values straightCan you believe me, baby?It’s never too late to get your values straight (no, no)Do you believe me?[Verse 2]Heater on the dresser, stomach growlingI’m thinkin’ “how can I make some dollars within the hours?”It’s funny how them hunger pain to your rib canTurn a decent kid into doing a bidOver stick-ups, nothing come, so screw the consequencesI’ll throw this black hoodie on, walk into this kitchenGrab my keys and my phone, call my mans to see if he’s with itBut he didn’t pick up, I guess I’m on a solo missionTimes hard, my God, I can’t even lieA 9-5 is not what I’m tryna do to surviveI’m thinking while on the huntSomebody ‘bout to stumble out of this club drunkWithout having that chain tucked‘Bout to get that *****ing chain took, nigga[Hook][Verse 3]Yeah - in the club, chain hanging, swinging, wowBaby moms is sending texts and sending threats like“Where those payments?”On some deadbeat dad shit, I hate you in the worst waySpend money on rozay, instead of your son’s birthdayMad quick, I told her “hold up, hold up, be there tomorrow”Then went back up to the bar to get another glass and a bottleOkay, can’t let her ruin my high tonight, not alrightPlus I pulled this chickWith every sip she’s looking more and more like the model typeAyo, lets leave, I take her, reach for my keysI’m stumbling out the door looking for my car on the street‘Til I see this black-hood wearning, staring nigga tryna stick upShots go off, I fell victim, damn...It's too late[Hook]
