Supreme lyrics

Artist  : Recoil 
Song : Supreme



 Send "Supreme" Ringtone to your Cell 

 

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?