Killah Priest — The Final Cup

The bartenders yell the last call at the mass bar The final cup, line ‘em up They ordered wine and alcohol Glasses are empty Pineapple slush, limes are crushed Their couples drunk, they tip a buck He slammed down fifty, saying she threw two quarters Said, “I hope this is enough” I’m in the cut, they stumbling He spilled his drink all over my tux “Sorry, my good man” Damn, this sucks “We having an afterparty, it’s in our suite, floor 83, the Deluxe We have liquor, drugs, a whole lot of stuff You can wait an hour or come with us There’ll be girls and gambling in there so no rush” As he headed to the elevator, “don’t be a hesitater, be a playa” He strutted off with his woman on his arm and some fly alligators Next thing you know I’m looking for their room though an hour later I hear [?] of music, a crowd, then a voice says, “I’m about my paper, a true gangsta from the Himalayas, and that’s word to my processed hair and to my silk underwears” I started to smile, I knocked on the door “I got it” The door opened up, I’m surprised, guess who I saw It was Martin [?] as Jerome, with brother man from the fifth floor but holding up [?] I said, “Marty-Mar, you were my favorite show” I started to hug them as we faded off slow To the screen, it’s pitch black You hear the film being changed, someone coughs Pull the tape, put it to the feeder, press playback It’s Priest with a cup of tea and a cafe pack, smoking a pipe with blonde ice, having a day-cap Ordered a longo, make it strong though like the Congo On the balcony of the condo Play the bongo, listen to Chongo Order [?], roll like the ghetto Two more espresso, have ‘em hype for Othello My poetry’s caffeine, I take half cream It gets you hype then it make you half dreams, you feel mellow Y’all polluted hip-hop with a virus, I’m the vaccine Call the writers I’m apple cider, I got tabs on liars I got a screw loose, tryna get a grip, grab them pliers It’s my turn, screwdriver Y’all plugs are burnt out, I’m the new supplier Y’all not lit, y’all confused the lighter Try and compete, my pen blow heat when I write on the fabric, use the dryer Y’all cycles complete, you cipher with Priest How you hop from the grease into the fire?