Supreme Lyrics

Supreme lyrics

Supreme talks about his baby's mother like a whore. Sweet 16 she is, with future
uncertain, love incomplete. Soapy days for Jr. and she. At 3, Supreme comes to
give his boy a pat and a pound, put his hoodie on the couch, his Timberlands up
on the chair so his bitch can bring him a beer. So, this is the Nuclear family?
Mommy, baby... and Daddy makes a mess of his baby's mother's hair as they fuck
'til her mother comes in from work. She's playing house, he's playing man and
Jr. is the only one who accepts he's just a child. Wild nights she had with a
swish of her stuff, knocked up to a waddle, a baby carriage bustle and still
gets her play. But her dream is true romance.. well sorta, everyday from 3 to
6. Supreme leaves out before Mommy comes kick his lazy narrow behind back onto
the street. He's not a corner boy. The bodega in the 40's is mid- block where
bullets flock, no names engraved and he may be next. Shielded by the patron
saint of the brothers. Being there is all there is. Living lovely without
turning the corner, reaching for a swig brings sweat to his brow and shit to
his mouth, dispelling knowledge on the stuffs, the pleasing things the baby's
mother do, dousing the sidewalk with wretch of a boy/man, breaking Friday night
to seek man/hood in a paper bag. Says, "Fatherhood is real cool and the kid
looks like me so she better not let nothing happen to him or I’ma kill the
bitch." Sudden twitch to the roll of the wheel, trained steel stained blue puts
punk on the wall for some trumped up call from precinct 101. Monday at 3, the
baby's mother waits, Jr. in her arms, patiently at the door, doesn't know what
she misses. Locked into the routine, a project queen. Supreme rode off into the
sunset with a 3 to 6 all his own. Took a week for her to find out, a minute to
promise devotion, her life on hold as Supreme calls checking on his boy (and
the baby's mother). Life on the outside ain't even worth it. Shit. Who screwed
whom? There’s not enough room in the pen for them both to stay locked into
their little worlds they will. Leather gear, X skullie, Size 2 Docs. Man,
Jr.’s the fliest shit in nursery care. Paid for by W.I.C., so who's getting
dicked? Who reigns supreme?