We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Babushka Deli

by Dunes

supported by
jambandamphibian
jambandamphibian thumbnail
jambandamphibian From beginning to end it’s absolutely fire. Couldn’t stop listening! Thank you Bill and Sweeps! Favorite track: Bill Grease Rips.
Tajzilla.
Tajzilla. thumbnail
Tajzilla. Just a few tracks in, and it's just brutal underground for me tonight. Sipping a Gin and tonic, or two to this madness! 👏🏼💯
/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $7 USD  or more

     

  • Cassette + Digital Album

    Limited run of 25 copies
    - cellophane wrapped
    - j-cards with tracklist

    Includes unlimited streaming of Babushka Deli via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 7 days
    3 remaining
    Purchasable with gift card

      $15 USD or more 

     

  • Full Digital Discography

    Get all 15 Dunes releases available on Bandcamp and save 30%.

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Sturgeon, Babushka Deli, Plugged In, Breezin' Steady EP, Maltese Gumshoes, Dunes Instrumentals Vol. 1, Iceman, Don't Get Along, and 7 more. , and , .

    Purchasable with gift card

      $30.80 USD or more (30% OFF)

     

1.
Intro: It’s what it is kid It’s what it is kid It’s what it is kid Double 2’s, twenty blues [22-20 blues] watch you’re lid kid It’s what it is kid It’s what it is kid It’s what it is kid Double 2’s, twenty blues [22-20 blues] watch you’re lid kid Verse: Knows his dome hideous, the kid Sisyphus Holding up the rock like its sock money He’s got the habits of a fifty-clam president Odysseus, quick-witted, gripping a fifth, the kid can spark a cannon He’s Robert Johnson spitting rhymes at the cemetery He’s Van Zandt digging graves to get a pawn ticket He’s nice with it, crooning blues penitentiary Feeding pigeons, a smidgeon of clay back-handed On the Greyhound bus with all the fat ladies Cigarette smoke smells in the backseat Cleveland to Detroit is something wealthy people Wouldn’t call prayer while throwing glares like the sun’s heat He holds a Choco-taco like a glass of Lagavulin (Oh shit!) Heavy rumored buying Bitcoins with Kohl’s cash (head-crack!) Up in Lynn, they call him Nomar Garcia-Kafka He’s Jimmy Page to Contessa Von Zeppelins Doug Stanhope, he Popov’s like Vodka He holds a bone-handle, like the gat a chicken-wing A DOOM cartoon, like mama I want to sing There’s something arrogant the way he cause embarrassment To everyone he works against, the peons up to management They call him Barracuda, Bishop of Bermuda Always had a torcher on his side named Yuka Rhyme schemes fizzy like a high-ball’s ingredients Expedient with beats, he gets em freaks disobedient A pale-faced kid, with bad nose and steak ears Crazy on the mic like De Niro up in Cape Fear Spitting havoc like a pair of automatics Kid his cherry-wood verbiage smacks the breath up out ya attic He takes his brandy with champagne, reefer the same way Cigarette tips on lips cocaine stained Filling glasses to the brim Whether Chartreuse, or Grey Goose, or Number Five Pimm’s Known to throw bows at the rising of the moon Having wads in his pocket that could choke a raccoon Sheer-stocking ladies wearing hand-carved shoes They been slipping kids the mickey while he twenty-three skidoos’ Outro: Uhh - It’s what it is kid It’s what it is kid We’re turning off lights Teddy P style Kid Sweeps undefeated for a while It’s what it is kid
2.
Verse 1: Bill Grease timeless, finesse with the wine list Finest to ever do it, rap god Aquinas Blessings inherited; his highness combined with Blunt smoke beats made by Sweeps with a fine stitch Counting dimes, press rewind, never mind kid Gun smoke jokes pull the yoke on a fine bitch Most folks lose their mind when the rhyme switch One day the kid slick, next day he shines shit It’s like a sunrise bus ride Light hits the windows of my mind and divides combines Like a half-sipped nip spilling spirit down your thigh With a half-baked grip that personifies the time Sinking feeling like them cars in the pond Kids stole em after dark, like the boot of a bong Had to be in ’82 or ‘88 You can see them in the winter time right beneath your skates Verse 2: There’s a gin game in Union Square in one of them saloons With a Cuban book maker holding beer-soaked doubloons Calls me Barbaroja when I get funny in the head Figured running up a tab was better than counting out the bread There’s a Riddlist up on Harvard Ave You can see him on the block, you can hear the kid shout How far the cat run through the woods, place your bets Below the nose it goes, you can feel it in your chest Who goes there? Smells like kibby Hennessy the kid, with Armenian chickees Known around Korea town to play the game Chicago Above the autobody shop they bundled up the Fargo Dice game sells beers if you’re polite Spanish said inside that place, it isn’t very nice Lots of talk of little dogs whenever they’re upset Best forget the meaning like it’s Benny and the Jets
3.
El Samurai 02:53
Verse 1: Strictly ill shit, rhythms get hidden kid, real quick Bill Grease the mick with SW sticks, it all clicks Spitting like ginmills pour liq’s Sipping a fifth gripping bricks to kids rich Known to punch dummies who like to wave money Stealing honeys by the tonny, slick talk and gin rummy It’s all good – another unaffordable neighborhood Where yoga pants tramps sip white wine, I shine to em I rhyme to em, yo, it’s over their heads, but they smell bread It ended in bed, kid enough said A hundred rapper’s what it takes to read one book Gold chains click when a neck gets shook I’m not the one, turn around before I sick the hounds on ya Pound for pound, kid can rattle like a dozen cobras Alligator skin boots that’s my destiny Kids with gold teeth reek of dirty brown celery 2004 Grand AM, door smashed in Desiccated bones, rolled thin with the wax in em Carved oars to make swords, shit’s unfair Kids waving steel get their wigs peeled like Nair Plumb dumb stupid, shot a dozen Cupids Stick ain’t missed, it’s what it is, kid ruthless Sweeps got the bundle from the Nicks the kid’ll Never do a bid, he keep it hid like the educated rich Hook: Eyo, it’s Bill Grease, the kid Sweeps murdering beats Making feats wearing sleeves of mink, gold cufflinks clink Raising drinks, kids see pink Jack-boot rappers think their shit don’t stink, it’s what it is People up in ya biz, couple grand handlers Hammers and sticks, while you stammer and shit, how your rhymes lit Shut up kid quick, Grease was never here Throats clear right before the kid spits Yo! Yo I can’t believe Raekwon Don was at the Bennigan’s Ice water avalanches, blanche white lighting on the grip again Shit-wilted rappers talking drip again C’mon man, yo the same damn shit again? I’m wherever there’s a liquor bottle opening Cold prose, toking, holding rope, cutting cloth different Phoenician purple-vision Tyrian inks Yo, we frosted up the girlies they been begging for minks Yo my snub nose cackles at the eyes that blink Patter-rap, smack the shit out ya clap-trap links Kid don’t think, gimme all the shin-plaster, faster ‘fore my blaster leave a hole mighty fine distinct Beyond the pale shit, albino state of mind Chewing to the rind, kids a few drinks behind get shot dead Head crack attacks matter fact we black bread We jack the cred, walking women to their beds Hook: Eyo, it’s Bill Grease, the kid Sweeps murdering beats Making feats wearing sleeves of mink, gold cufflinks clink Raising drinks, kids see pink Jack-boot rappers think their shit don’t stink, it’s what it is People up in ya biz, couple grand handlers Hammers and sticks, while you stammer and shit, how your rhymes lit Shut up kid quick, Grease was never here Throats clear right before the kid spits
4.
Los Banditos 02:06
Verse 1: Started from the bottom and I’m there Head on a swivel, high-noon sun glare Dead man’s hands black aces and eights Jumping freights with a sunburned face Bones they break, shotguns for the snakes Rattle that talk that make a man lose face Stole from the greats like Prometheus Previous genius, provides for the devious Who hate homogenous What that word mean? Never mind that Bric-a-brac slurred words, break a man’s back Bandana on the beard, kid be looking kind of weird Had a 38 special in his pocket, no cap Last words heard: yo, where Bill Grease? Only kid wilder than the kid called Sweeps One thing’s certain, dead or alive Los banditos got that vibe Hook: Los banditos got that vibe Los banditos got that vibe Los banditos got that vibe Los banditos got that vibe Handsome is as handsome does Drinking stiff and hanging loose Hand in glove the noose was tight The thread that hung the mother’s goose Verse 2: Bill Grease freak with em den of thieves Whiffs that shit make a drowned man breath Back in the times Erin’s Isle spoke Greek ‘Walked in the water without any feet Hip hop nerds sing lovebird turds R&B birds talk shit and get hurt Snakebirds sing like moss turns green Old Thompson kills them nightmare dreams Skins of teeth’s the quantity Of figs I’d give to hear you breath Slow to anger, quick off the mark He’ll dent your car for free That’s that shit, them kids get hits Sweeps, Jack Pool and Grease ain’t’ missed One thing’s certain, dead or alive Los banditos got that vibe Hook: Los banditos got that vibe Los banditos got that vibe Los banditos got that vibe Los banditos got that vibe Handsome is as handsome does Drinking stiff and hanging loose Hand in glove the noose was tight The thread that hung the mother’s goose Los banditos got that vibe Los banditos got that vibe Los banditos got that vibe Los banditos got that vibe
5.
Intro: Uhh, yeah Yo, we aim to stay! Verse 1: Every damn time golden hip-hop gets flak Watch your back, Jack Poole will grip a pen like a gat Yeah, we’re legends, I don’t give a smidge about your brethren Barbaroja’s known at every 7-11 come get him It’s all butter when you’re face down in the gutter Tattle tale Gail’s like to wail like their mothers I can rap in brail if you close your eyes carefully Gimme all your money, never chum with Grease faithfully Hook: Bill Grease rips while em other cat’s trip Got Sweeps in the mix, we been cooking up the fix Got slang that make a brain go – dang Knocking normies out the frame Came to bring the pain, and we aim to stay Bill Grease rips while em other cat’s trip Got Sweeps in the mix, we been cooking up the fix Got slang that make a brain go – dang Knocking normies out the frame Came to bring the pain, and we aim to stay Verse 2: Cookie jar dunks, chunks of meat got sprayed thick Choicest of voices his verbiage sauté’s clips Rich from the stolen always open books he’s memorized Reciting Keats to your girl while he squeeze her thigh Had a couple friends pass away in strange ways Crazed off the liquor dead-ringer for Sling Blade Eyes mad jaded like an emerald in the sun Talk a lot about yourself, he’ll shoot his mouth like a gun Kid – run it! That’s right the Casio wrist computer Ironically worn, till torn off to change users Why do ghosts spit bout yellow brick roads? Yo a chef I know said Dorothy was yapping in a brogue Where the beer go? Malt water corn syrup Bones lit by chicks, leaving ash around the damn whip Used to know cats who claim to always run bank Right until they ain’t now they crank, whiffing paint Hook: Bill Grease rips while em other cat’s trip Got Sweeps in the mix, we been cooking up the fix Got slang that make a brain go – dang Knocking normies out the frame Came to bring the pain, and we aim to stay Bill Grease rips while em other cat’s trip Got Sweeps in the mix, we been cooking up the fix Got slang that make a brain go – dang Knocking normies out the frame Came to bring the pain, and we aim to stay
6.
Verse 1: Yo he’s Tony Soprano of Collins Cove, kid, watching the ducks Old Thompson in the pocket, kid we call it lunch You can’t relate, eye’s dinner plates make Yo, the dumb look dumber, kid, they’re mumbling they’re great Now it’s Salem down to North Station, back up to Haverhill What the kid do? Besides crushing up, all the pain pills Levitated stakes, kid Sweeps spins the plates Generate the charge to keep my whole style awake Been a while since I’ve taken everything on your plate Save your face I keep it moving like the product on the way Call me DHL like the dude heavy late Kid’ll sock it to your eye-socket, kid, and pocket up the change Poke your brain with your nose bone on Fat Albert breaks Kid up in your view his crooked tooth gave it away Last seen tragically, flapping gums happily For anything and anyone who’d listen to his majesty Hook: Yo, catch him up at Dead Horse Beach by the gas tank Chop-Suey sandwiches, smoked tea lapsing Old Thompson bottles with a grip of smoked bones in em Kid’s slick, but got a little old soul in him (Kid’s slick, but got a little old soul in him) Verse 2: Kid spitting at the Bill and Bob’s parking lot dump ducks Scratch ticket champions with hard hats in dump trucks Ninety-nine beer garden fights frequent A broke nose, I suppose could be called piquant Crushing gravel at the Anchor for a couple hundred beers Stains on his bomber like fresh outta Cheers Call him Norm like McDonald like the legend Catch him in the corner puffing dirt brown lettuce Lynn’s the Walnut, where old men’s wallets Got a chain that connects them from their belt to their pockets Hell’s Angels neighbors – always paid the rent on time But if you got a six pack, you better bet it’s five I know some rough cats smelling like the tanneries Grandfather’s fathers used to work polluting everything The North Shore’s a haven for some cold beach drinking Catch me with a bottle not speaking Hook: Yo, catch him up at Dead Horse Beach by the gas tank Chop-Suey sandwiches, smoked tea lapsing Old Thompson bottles with a grip of smoked bones in em Kid’s slick, but got a little old soul in him (Kid’s slick, but got a little old soul in him) Outro: He’s at the Polish American Veteran’s League With the pickled-egg breath down and outers Placing bets, listening to Stan Getz and shitting on your family crest The no-tooth losers with dead dreams The boozers who knew the future was dead mean Glasses up if you know what the kid means Per usual, this is a Bill Grease and Sweeps tragedy Carefully crafted for those who know, and those who don’t I need another Heineken
7.
Intro: Uh – yeah Uh – yeah, it’s what it is Verse 1: Nostradamus Clay, get you played I'm getting paid wits be frayed the way we break the beat apart Cassius suede, shoes blue crooning Blue Moon shooting Pray the spray will stay the way it was when I was looting through the crates All em fakes say they don't like jakes But call the boys in blue when Sweeps be detonating the breaks At high stakes, kid the take was fucked up like smashed plates I'll smack ya face, in any case kid I'll smash ya date Kid this is fate the way I'm handling irregular Metaphoric atmosphere's appearing like a senator Forever clever, pulling levers while you bucks been tethered To wack beats that you lease kid I can win whenever This ain't a test: yo I'm shooting when you start to flex Up next: rappers long forgotten used to gargle Becks You're in the wrong place, send a friend a fucking text Needing help, red beard been aiming at ya chest Hook: Stone cold chilling, Sweeps been chilling Grease take it back like ’88 Top Billing Yo Dunes ain’t the clique you wanna f@#$ with Jack Poole rude, Grease crude, and kid Sweeps brings the ruckus Stone cold chilling, Sweeps been chilling Grease take it back like ’88 Top Billing Yo Dunes ain’t the clique you wanna f@#$ with Jack Poole rude, Grease crude, and kid Sweeps brings the ruckus Verse 2: DeLorean Beige, we sway the way they used to throw a knuckle Letting out a chuckle as the ribs split, start to buckle This huckster's trouble spitting venom tipped sticks Get my kicks whipping hicks with fly quips like I'm Bertrand Russel Don't appreciate ya looking like that Ya rhythm flat like ya stack, I'll rob you blind behind ya crooked back It’s fade to black whenever Bill Grease starts to rap Confirming your fears, I'm drinking beer, kid ya mother’s fat Never mind, its fine, I get mine, you’re getting stabbed Funny how a Stuart Hughes suit can turn to bloody rags They used to call the kids like you limp wrist hacks Hip-hop brats deserve an axe through their fucking backs Yo ya amateur, I'm raising up the temperature Incredible, his words come out the furnace spitting flames at ya My misdemeanor put to meter - as we proceed To give you what ya need – a large, fatty liver Hook: Stone cold chilling, Sweeps been chilling Grease take it back like ’88 Top Billing Yo Dunes ain’t the clique you wanna f@#$ with Jack Poole rude, Grease crude, and kid Sweeps brings the ruckus Stone cold chilling, Sweeps been chilling Grease take it back like ’88 Top Billing Yo Dunes ain’t the clique you wanna f@#$ with Jack Poole rude, Grease crude, and kid Sweeps brings the ruckus
8.
Verse 1: It’s like Don’t Be A Menace, Winter Warz reverse dentist Kid I’ll smack you in ya jaw, I’m raw kid the bestest Check this, hundred thousand clams baked and packaged At this, Sweeps and Grease – we ain’t the average Joe sloppy copies spit slang they can’t say well Poppy seed mommies spread legs that ain’t aged well (eww) Willie McTell spells, the blues crooners got me Puffing mad Parliaments, Maggot Brain philosophies Probably the sickest white kid with red hair Barbaroja spits till red becomes grey there’s Enough wack rappers who think themselves dapper Red snapper looking floozies get shook and start crapping Nutmeg, rap game, James Joyce, disciple All praises due, without the dude it’s just trifles IRA blam blams for Stan fans of garbage Free styles by the dozen, never Uzi’s by the tonnage Hook: Where you from? Nowhere Massachusetts Where the fun was parachuting pills and cursing at the sun Where you from? Hundred thousand punches plus the bruises Down and outers spitting slick shit without funds Where you from? We’re major, you’re minor Don’t deserve to be a player in the game of raps fucking finest Dunes Deep Mobbing like the Queensbridge jersey’s Double O Hennessy the Prodigy of Cursing Verse 2: (Whoop there it is, another strange use of rap slang) Whoop there it is, another strange use of rap slang Keep it in the lane, lame brains stay the same Throwing gutter balls and begging for the spare Sucking air, acting like this shit’s Hollywood Squares Get corrected, fix your shit quick and get to stepping Dunes is two dudes against your whole crew we’re reckless Gnashing of the teeth like a dog with shaved ears Behaves weird spitting slick through the beard Change of scenery, the verbiage full of greenery At least to me it’s looking like Grease jacked machinery Drunk as a skunk throwing steel around for fun 16 bars, a full clip to get funds Stiff upper lipping the kids, who never knew what it is To get a nickel out a beer bottle Still never worry a bit about a beautiful bitch My belt’s notched like a 45 Stiff upper lipping the kids, who never knew what it is To scratch a ticket for the booze money Still never fuck with the kids who think they know what it is To murder beats nonchalant Stiff upper lipping the kids, who never knew what it is To get a nickel out a beer bottle Still never worry a bit the kid, you know what it is The livid lazy eye guy 14 carat gold computer wizards Recognize the reference and you recognize the difference Barbaroja does what he does Sipping gas, clutching stacks and grabbing funds Yeah, we’re done!
9.
Verse 1: My Uzi weighs a ton kid, it ain't a gun kid I don't care about your funds, or where you're from kid I was young manufacturing potato cannons Grill sparking hair spray - a tough luck baron Sold bones to those who’s prose radiated Scratch ticket wits rich, always underrated Coffee-stained brains change range You gotta calibrate your scope, don’t be a dope The game’s changed I invented shit, kid I got a patent Mostly I been drinking like I’m Charley Patton Doing anything, for anything to f@#$ing happen Keep your Benson & Hedges, kid I rock the Mavericks Clutching mics on a barstool Looking like a fool with something to prove Drunk rap Marc Maron Kid Sweeps got vermouth money Now its time for Bill Grease to creep freaks And smooth honeys Hook: Chuck Brown said give me the bridge Keep it cold, like your rhymes out the fridge Keep it in the pocket Off the cuff smug hype shit plugged into sockets Got the dope? Kid, try to cop it Chuck Brown said give me the bridge Keep it cold, like your rhymes out the fridge Keep it in the pocket Off the cuff smug hype shit plugged into sockets Got the dope? Kid, try to cop it Verse 2: My rhyme shines like a dime, kid Copper and nickel, the kid spittle’s all the time, kid Got designs in my mind I can’t express well Till I smoke a few bones, singing Willie McTell Punching throats, pulling yokes, tugging boats to boast I like to toke, telling jokes while I toast This is for the kids’ living lives on the ropes Trying to cope around dopes who just want you to croak Where the beer at? Gotta have a couple after weed naps Speak of the devil, yo on the level where the weed at? Sweeps beats get you elevated Bill Grease steez is the opposite of meditating Jack Poole has fuel mad innovative And still wack rappers get celebrated Sick and tired of rich kids asking how to rock it I don’t know kid, shit, keep it in the pocket Hook: Chuck Brown said give me the bridge Keep it cold, like your rhymes out the fridge Keep it in the pocket Off the cuff smug hype shit plugged into sockets Got the dope? Kid, try to cop it Chuck Brown said give me the bridge Keep it cold, like your rhymes out the fridge Keep it in the pocket Off the cuff smug hype shit plugged into sockets Got the dope? Kid, try to cop it Outro: I am - somebody ‘Said I am - somebody Cause you really are somebody…
10.
Verse 1: Long time ago we used to spray paint bridges Train cars, Alprazolaming, yelling at the pigeons Hitting bullies with the hair spray potato cannon Smoking cloves, telling jokes, laughing at the scratch ticket dopes Until we scoped all the dope prose, coded language thrown cold Old enough to be considered classics Punks get jumped with Brand Nubian aluminum bats Yo that’s that, it’s what it is, kid we’re past it A lot of cats dragging trash around, bragging that they don’t read Say they wanna rap but can’t stomach the Old E Try to start smoke but haven’t even charred a lung yet Claim to crush gravel having never known the taste of Becks The kid Grease he’s been known for his feats Saw him shaking down the Riddlist up on Tremont Street Told the Hooker Street schizo he called the fake cops It’s the only way to get the kid to snap up out his thoughts Hook: People like to say they rock blocks People like to say they know what you don’t It’s all talk, kid a lot Yo cause Dunes is two dudes, I don’t mean to be rude But we knock it out the park copasetic People like to say they rock blocks People like to say they know what you don’t It’s all talk, kid a lot Yo cause Dunes is two dudes, I don’t mean to be rude But they knock it out the park copasetic Verse 2: Kid I can knock it out the park, like a knuckle to a NARC Like a blade inside a sock, in the shade till I’m not It takes a lot to be the kind of guy Grease is Taking off the muzzle, watch the muscle twitch whenever the kid needs to Competitive, kid you need to, repetitive ain’t a re-do Incredible, tough, impeccable luck, these gettable bucks ain’t ever enough Exception to the rule, sipping three brews Naw, you’re right dog, multiply the number by three, dude One Scotch a Bourbon and a Beer Unrivaled in the way they minimize a man’s fears Try to hide inside, but time resides beside the crimes We harbor in our minds; we try in vain to hide them from our peers Not for nothing, kids try their best but get it wrong Smoking over priced cess inside of overpriced bongs Using other people’s money for the session The shit’s cute yo these dummies need a lesson Hook: People like to say they rock blocks People like to say they know what you don’t It’s all talk, kid a lot Yo cause Dunes is two dudes, I don’t mean to be rude But we knock it out the park copasetic People like to say they rock blocks People like to say they know what you don’t It’s all talk, kid a lot Yo cause Dunes is two dudes, I don’t mean to be rude But they knock it out the park copasetic
11.
Verse 1: I drank a fifth of my last name for luck You cowards get f@#$ed Rough, tough, bumbling, stumbling gets you nip-tucked Ohh, damn incredible shit sucks Autotuned crooners leaving hip hop nonplussed Punching bag slam, the damn vig got you tits up Lady on my lap does something similar fills cups Cigarette machine dreams, drunker than Pimm’s cups Hit you with the shit that had Holyfield’s ear tucked Heh- rough smug incredible fly shit The ink I wrote this with came distilled out a live squid What you looking at? Kid you’re wack around my shit This that heart attack rap, kid, with a dry wit I find the time to blow your small mind on the Sly On your family stone it was inscribed that you can’t rhyme Shut your yap, shit is wack, it’s a damn fact I’d rather swallow a pistol than hear another wealthy kid rap Hook: Rough smug incredible fly shit That’s the kind of shit kid I’ll make before my end Make the beat switch rhymes inevitable my hits Can get you fucked up, right or wrong am I fly? Shit! Verse 2: Pumping off the breaks to flip nice whips No chain gang, Sam Cook-ing these fly shits Not a damn thang, Orangutang-ing these shite kids Kicking money up to Sweeps and Grease on the sly biz Marquis clean, light green with the tan seats Lumberjacked out, lifting skirts from mad freaks Used to sling cards, drank too much was a rap geek I turned that shit around, I’m sipping Aces while I’m rapping, it’s happening Cowards act tough till they’re clapping Kid been running round the boroughs making bloody noses on the average Innocent kids can turn to savage, Minimum bids can leave a kid thinking he’s the new Maverick Hook: Rough smug incredible fly shit That’s the kind of shit kid I’ll make before my end Make the beat switch rhymes inevitable my hits Can get you fucked up, right or wrong am I fly? Shit! Outro: Kick against the pricks, put a stick against ya cabbage Only law they know is kicking ass on the average Sweeps and Bill Grease running number till they bag it Till the day comes, they’re making hits for the masses Dunes Bill Grease The kid Sweeps And Jack Poole
12.
Hook: People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing Verse 1: So I did the only thing the kid could do to pass the time Swigged lot of wine and tried to fabricate a smile I nodded at their nothings, and laughed at boring jests But you see this got boring quick, and what happened followed next See a gal said I looked Irish, and her father was a cop ‘Said I was from Haverhill and I liked to kick small dogs She said I was a bigot and I smartly said, “nuh-uh” Her boyfriend took a swing at me, but not before I ducked So he punched a gal in high heel boots who's balance was undone She tried to break her fall by grabbing onto a man-bun The man-bun had an owner and that owner was holding hands With the gal who mistook Bill Grease for a well behaved man So then I had bolt, kid, I didn't have to travel far A Fenian ginmill’s the safest of the bars My people screaming funny things, they offered me a drink They told me how they ended up despite some other things Well, the moral of this story if there really can be one Is life can sure be easy if you always hold your tongue But if you like a ten-day drunk over a life of ease You’ll always have a friend in the kid Bill Grease Hook: People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing Verse 2: I've met men who'd fish for fish and smash em on the rocks That way they wouldn't fuss so much when stacked like little logs Their cigarettes were folded up into their shirt sleeves told nasty jokes they'd never tell unless to you or me Yo I also met the gamblers who in old age turn to bust ‘Stories told have little chance and always best of luck Wagers made on everything - pinball without the flippers Rabbis, priests, imam's and queens, kings and heavy lifters So, imagine then to my surprise the questions that I hear Don't you know drinking’s bad? Is gluten in this beer? And I like to think despite my ways I always show restraint ‘Til fortune failed, I do declare and a grave mistake was made See this one time down in Brighton well I played a little show I rapped a lot of dope shit to folks I didn't know And those people they were all the things I tried to rail against Y'know the money-having youngins who somehow don't pay for rent Hook: People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing People like to chirp about nothing and don't know it Take it from a bored gutter snipe drunk poet By the time their 25, you see the glass in their eyes and they wonder why my bottle keeps flowing

credits

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Dunes Boston, Massachusetts

Collab project between beatmaker Sweeps and lyricist Bill Grease

contact / help

Contact Dunes

Streaming and
Download help

Report this album or account

If you like Dunes, you may also like: