Billy Killer

[Hook] Each morning, my man goes downtown Where everyone falls, and he's lost In an angry land, he's a little man [Verse 1] 9 A.M., eyeing him My eyes widening Feeling like it's Groundhog Day, he gotta try again Riptide tide with thoughts of retiring Pride flies and he wired me some truth and inspirement So I can't fail him He gets the mail and he's off Like a movie trailer with those long roads and it costs I wish you could retain the way he's losing his patience Fucking transit, travel constantly, the fame motivation Check cashing day, knowing my face on the spot The bank teller should embrace him when he talks in slots And not a day of rest, he walks twenty blocks And brings me what the villain's got A little money, little presents I could kill 'em rock Ready stalking with them, having dark visions of choking [censored] And fuck [censored], but of course it's his job And he can't understand why I worry so much Because he's my man, damn [Hook] [Verse 2] He's busting his ass like figure skaters falling Discussing the past label problems, [censored] calling him It's my drama he's falling in; my momma, she stalling him He's running out the door and she's saying, "Go to the store," and then He's rushing out on no food I feel him getting close to postal Getting robbed by a nigga for ProTools And he won't tell me about [censored] in Tennessee I swear that nigga's dead -- I could picture the funeral, B Hollering like soon he'll be picking jewelry I be like, if I was you, I'd be excluding me He won't go; he smokes, though, just to get by They fuck up his high with phone calls I swear to God, I wish he'd snap Run up in [censored], stab [censored] in the back And flip the table over, take his wallet, kick his throat in And leave the knife attached to a note, smoking [Hook] [Verse 3] Man, fuck [censored] and [censored] and [censored] Colin ran around for a month and niggas ain't calling I hate him going to these meetings, trying to explain Why Jean is the next thing; I fiend for the ending I scream when he's leaving, man, I hate them He doesn't write no more; drawings, he doesn't make them Pause, we the relation; calls heeded, forsaken All Colin's creative; Lord, how does he make it? Naw, I couldn't, maybe, cause Jean's not as good at Bottling up feelings, feeling all positive when I shouldn't I'm going with him, bringing some basement to it In the ass, find a nice place to place my foot in But he paces my footing, tries to place the good in Keeps the paper chase going, no complaints Why shouldn't I worry that what good am I? Damn, I'll love the man til I die, c'mon [Hook]