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 midblock 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.".