"Tomorrow"
Written and Produced by Grip Grand/ G. Winogrond for Broakland Music, BMI
Chorus:
I had to pack up and go,
Somethin' is changin', I know.
What is this thing that I wrote,
Made me afraid of tomorrow?
Paid all the dues that I owe,
I'd p*** the jewels that I own,
But I ain't got none of those.
Least I won't go it alone-
My wife, my pen, and my poem...
I got my own tomorrow.
You got to own tomorrow.
We had to beg and borrow
To make our own tomorrow.
Will we get home tomorrow?
Verse 1:
Welcome to Broakland, Grand is back.
A hundred and eighty degrees from your standard rap.
Maybe MCs oughta run like candlewax.
You gotta stay on your toes so you can't relax.
They might cut your mic off with your hand attached!
(They will!)
I keep my head up, feet down.
Still tryin' to score,
When I miss then I go for the rebound.
B-Town recycles. We found it's vital.
When it comes to takin' over, hey,
We wrote the Bible.
But now is the hour for survival.
War's not the answer-Grip put a flower in your rifle.
G to the R. If I leave in a car,
Then it's borrowed. Don't confuse me with a star.
You won't see our crib on TV,
My whole fam in Broakland.
Talk's cheap, but it isn't for free,
So you can buy the CD for a minimal fee.
That's right, listen to me, 'cuz the tide is turnin'.
No, I haven't blown up, but the fire's burnin'.
I'm a furnace. Rhyme with a violent purpose-
To destroy every MC whose style is worthless-
But I got stage-fright and now I'm too nervous.
"Oh, word? I can't keep it that real, I'd get tired."
And I feel like my License to Ill is expired.
And then when you went to renew, they said
"Someone's gotta wild out, but it wasn't meant to be you.
Just go to work,
'Cuz on the first the rent'll be due".
And that's why...
(Chorus)
Verse 2:
I worked all week to earn my keep
So that I could rest easy under my sheets.
But instead I get headaches,
Anxieties made me a head-case,
Back pain gave me a neck brace.
Broakland is the best place-
Scrape by or get scraped
Off of the concrete the next day.
Bills to pay and they're addin' up,
'Cuz I spent what I had this month
And still owed a bunch.
Plus, the banks ain't loanin' much.
Three bucks, man! Where can I go to lunch?
Hold it up when I get there. p***e to bug,
Known to punch time-clocks like the Golden Gloves.
Oh, it must be I'm overworked. Go berserk!
Lord help me, though I don't go to church.
It's only Wednesday...you don't know how much that hurts.
I gotta get over the hump like a hunchback's shirt!
Another day, another dollar short.
Went to the dollar store 'cuz I needed milk, so I bought a quart.
But it spilled when I tried to pour mine's...
Life is beautiful, but it can cut like rose vines.
Head or gut? (What?!)
Motherf----r, it's time!
So let's go!
(Chorus)
Written and Produced by Grip Grand/ G. Winogrond for Broakland Music, BMI
Chorus:
I had to pack up and go,
Somethin' is changin', I know.
What is this thing that I wrote,
Made me afraid of tomorrow?
Paid all the dues that I owe,
I'd p*** the jewels that I own,
But I ain't got none of those.
Least I won't go it alone-
My wife, my pen, and my poem...
I got my own tomorrow.
You got to own tomorrow.
We had to beg and borrow
To make our own tomorrow.
Will we get home tomorrow?
Verse 1:
Welcome to Broakland, Grand is back.
A hundred and eighty degrees from your standard rap.
Maybe MCs oughta run like candlewax.
You gotta stay on your toes so you can't relax.
They might cut your mic off with your hand attached!
(They will!)
I keep my head up, feet down.
Still tryin' to score,
When I miss then I go for the rebound.
B-Town recycles. We found it's vital.
When it comes to takin' over, hey,
We wrote the Bible.
But now is the hour for survival.
War's not the answer-Grip put a flower in your rifle.
G to the R. If I leave in a car,
Then it's borrowed. Don't confuse me with a star.
You won't see our crib on TV,
My whole fam in Broakland.
Talk's cheap, but it isn't for free,
So you can buy the CD for a minimal fee.
That's right, listen to me, 'cuz the tide is turnin'.
No, I haven't blown up, but the fire's burnin'.
I'm a furnace. Rhyme with a violent purpose-
To destroy every MC whose style is worthless-
But I got stage-fright and now I'm too nervous.
"Oh, word? I can't keep it that real, I'd get tired."
And I feel like my License to Ill is expired.
And then when you went to renew, they said
"Someone's gotta wild out, but it wasn't meant to be you.
Just go to work,
'Cuz on the first the rent'll be due".
And that's why...
(Chorus)
Verse 2:
I worked all week to earn my keep
So that I could rest easy under my sheets.
But instead I get headaches,
Anxieties made me a head-case,
Back pain gave me a neck brace.
Broakland is the best place-
Scrape by or get scraped
Off of the concrete the next day.
Bills to pay and they're addin' up,
'Cuz I spent what I had this month
And still owed a bunch.
Plus, the banks ain't loanin' much.
Three bucks, man! Where can I go to lunch?
Hold it up when I get there. p***e to bug,
Known to punch time-clocks like the Golden Gloves.
Oh, it must be I'm overworked. Go berserk!
Lord help me, though I don't go to church.
It's only Wednesday...you don't know how much that hurts.
I gotta get over the hump like a hunchback's shirt!
Another day, another dollar short.
Went to the dollar store 'cuz I needed milk, so I bought a quart.
But it spilled when I tried to pour mine's...
Life is beautiful, but it can cut like rose vines.
Head or gut? (What?!)
Motherf----r, it's time!
So let's go!
(Chorus)