Best of Times - Strong Arm Steady, Phonte

«Hi, hahahahaha, the first thing I have to tell you is this

This city was made from the original music

It is not a counterfeit, this is the real one

This one is true, this one is real»

Yeah, William Cosby sweaters

There’s only one thing better than cheddar

If life is a puzzle, I put it together

I’m like DMC, my Run Tougher Than Leather

I come from an era of golf hats

Ball caps, pimp hats with feathers

Plaid slacks with the button-up jackets to match

I blast at any knucklehead fucking with rap

I got to chuckle at that, rap black belt

Motherfucker but the buckle is back

Pro-rap, what you wanna do?

Nothing with that

You suck like a ho on figaro and you wack

Niggas know it and they talk to your back

Behind closed doors and get a good laugh

Like that factory that niggas in rap

Your name ain’t Seinfield if you black

My clientele sell more than the crack that Reagan let in

Fuck your Meagan Good friend at the Holiday Inn

She look like her twin

One thing’s for certain, two things for sure

No where to work and, no way to grow

A crazy place, we all praying for the best of times

Ohh yeah, yea-yeah-eaah

My mind is like a piecebook

I can’t get no peace wherever I look

My own worst enemy, even the evil get shook

For the violence, the fans turn finicky

Silly of me to think that I

Could untie that ribbon in the sky

Senior citizens in line

The end sure isn’t as pure to require that same sugar high

Rely on religion if your heart’s missing

It won’t work, certain it’s all written

Emerge, make 'em all listen

Some rehearse them devilish words and put the hurt in 'em

I mean put the hurting on 'em, with or without warning

Been a whole year, shed a tear for him

A year since I heard from him

I don’t care, I know where I’m going

One thing’s for certain, two things for sure

No where to work and, no way to grow

A crazy place, we all praying for the best of times

Ohh yeah, yea-yeah-eaah

Yo, everybody got the blues and it’s evident

Got workers losing they jobs and they residence

And overseas niggas filing out

Straight wilding out, tossing they shoes at the president

It make me think about the loot that I shell out

If times get tight will the show still sell out?

Po' folk need help, they call it welfare

When rich folk need it, then y’all call it a bail out

It make me wanna yell out, but I just chill

Because the love for my fam is priceless

Long as I got them we’ll be able to fight this

Cause nigga I’m black, I was born in a financial crisis, shit!

So no eulogies, and no two-to-threes

I’ll survive cause being broke ain’t new to me

New opportunities and ways to grind

Respect your mind and celebrate the best of times

Now let’s ride

One thing’s for certain, two things for sure

No where to work and, no way to grow

A crazy place, we all praying for the best of times

Ohh yeah, yea-yeah-eaah

Good times, good times