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lirik lagu different sports – defcee & boathouse

[verse 1:]
look, uh
time sweeps past, i’m just dying in the sand
counted plans before they hatched and watched them fly from my hand
so it’s back to the bottles of tan and every elderly excuse i abuse to dodge a college exam
someone asked me, what’s the true mark of a man?
i knocked over a plastic picture of water and ran
they tried to sell me a dream, so i charged them some bands cause major labels are just multi*level marketing scams
seen them carving their hand, but it’s no pork on my fork
just an appetite for self*destruction, court, and divorce
catch me throwing any storm to the port pouring it’s snorts
the fourth horseman aboard, i’m slow momentum more than its corpse
different sports in the same stadium and i’m still a champion
at any game that you can play in ’em
i’ll send their parents’ arrangements of lilies and geraniums
to compensate for all the opportunities they paid for ’em
i mean, do you know how much free sh*t we did?
we were scr*ping for change just to leave for our gigs
classes we taught, sixteens that we spit
all the cyphers we bodied and the meals that we split
ac on the fritz, stale weed in the clips
can’t breathe cause the heat took a seat on my ribs
but this beat is ridiculous, so sleep’s getting skipped
until everybody’s up early, squeezed in the whip
for trips that could’ve trapped us like water in a cactus
i can always spot those plants who don’t have history, just back up
n0body really sees them in the city, it’s elaborate and mysterious how fearsome a coward seems when they practice
turned away from the music, then i leaped in it backwards
after wandering away from that brink of a disaster ink passes, carved rhymes between classes magic and kareem, dream team feats of balance
different sports, same stadiums, we pay for them self*worth cratering, bodies on the decaying end
extending patience on the men not as slim
and for the toughest decisions, let a quarter dollar spin
knowing how we wanted to land, but still abided
salaries on the internet, none of our debts are private
one last glimmer of hope, lifting our wallets
nothing wrong with giving us rope until we’ve tied it
and i am not him, haven’t been him in so long
thin*skinned and lockjawed, tripped in the folklore
saw the last act and bawled and snapped back
lost the worst teacher, this cross a knapsack
can’t believe i was wrong, wasn’t right in the head
i would break the same rules and just reword how they’re read
if my body is a temple, it’s the mountain of meds
the high priest writing roots to climb down with a pen
what?

- defcee boathouse

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