Last Call (feat. Ronnie Brown & Mrs. Wise)

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CHRIS WI$E

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When the sun sets and the night falls and my dreams finally come
And my peace finally come
And I'm 73 
And my grand seeds don't want for nothing
So much different from me
Grew up with no parents home
In a gangland parish
I managed to stand my own
It's a miracle we made it this far 
Through faith alone
Pages stained with caffeine and poems
My president Black
She deserve a throne
True warrior
Moments of euphoria: Garter belt, Lobster, Belaire
Crown Heights South
Born and raised
On the playground where I spent many 4 AMs
And the couldn't sleep nights
Euro stepping with the street lights
I gotta make it
Taking the bus for some miles
Interstate
56 grams
Living wild
Hundreds of mistakes
But it made me a man
Lost many chips
But it gave me a plan
Keep suggesting I should switch a team? 
Nah dog 
I'm sticking to the script til it rip at the seams
Know some thought it wouldn't happen
Always knew I'd make it rapping
Passion too undying to imagine quitting
I would rather quit this planet
Start a new foundation in the stars
Build some homes and schools up on Saturn

If this was my last call
It'd be to you
If this was my last submission
Put it in the Smithsonian
Right in between Emmett's body and Emmitt's cleats

Better late than never, see how Spike waited forever
These diamonds waited for pressure
Player club future endeavors
Too cold to go rock that leather
But tough when it come together
Learn to stretch word to Bob
This for 8 miles worth of cheddar
First get myself right, feel like Malcolm reaching the Mecca
Older brothers and cousins that taught us was rocking Mecca
Him, oh that's WISE, and they know that we still ahead of
This Ronze, still Getting better every single sweater weather
Shine with it, like it's the beam
These niggas, in a instadream 
Gotta whip a whip, I need instant cream
Both our minds, on different things
Y'all flipping pages, y'all skipping scenes
They gon play the end, like pinky rings
They gon play the end like deleted scenes
And I X them out, by any means
My fit is vintage my shit is clean
Olive oil smoke spinach green
My aura lit like it's the gleam
I represent, and put it down for Queens
That other shit ain't what it seems
That puppet shit, those Geppetto strings
Had to loosen up, cut everything
Had to open up for the better things

If this was my last call
It'd be to you
If this was my last submission
Put it in the Smithsonian
Right in between Emmett's body and Emmitt's cleats

Too many names I can't fit in no verse
Too many bodies can't fit in the hearse
I hear cries for justice
But I know don't trust it
Only justice for homicide is another eye
World War continues and depression ensues
He brought the .38 to school 'cuz he ain't have no pencil
This my tangled web I gots to sort through
Pops was never there to give me culture or coaching
So here's a letter to my son in case I'm caught in commotion
Son, no means no
And if she pregnant then you gotta stay
Build a home cuz if y'all beefing then you gotta pay
Keep your circle small
Start with you and God
In dark times
Reflect on the 23rd Psalm
That's my go-to
Never let a man provoke you
Be silent and solid and find comfort in solace
Stay away from coke
And always ask for more salad

If this was my last call
It'd be to you
If this was my last submission
Put it in the Smithsonian
Right in between Emmett's body and Emmitt's cleats

If this was my last call
It'd be to you
If this was my last submission
Put it in the Smithsonian
Right in between Emmett's body and Emmitt's cleats

It's my last down
I'm leaving it all on the field
I got some extra cash
I'm leaving it all to the Fields

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