Taking Off Songtext / Lyric

[Verse 2: Daveed Diggs]
What is in the mind of a motherfucking killer when he chillin' on the porch with his daughter in his lap, peace
That man just doing his job fam
No demons for the damn [?]
And if they live in hell
They can't bring it to you, you see?
What's a goon to a goblin?
Essentially, living in the ghetto cause the rent is cheap
And the cost of living is the life you living
And the life you living is the nicest giving
That you ice the living
That they cry for more of that good poison
That hood oil
That cash cow need cash now
Just add water and back off of what momma taught ya
Parents just don't understand, apparently always talking to Jesus, please
The only God here is the Jesus piece they rocking like hipsters rock Jeezy tees, ironic
Don't you think? Or don't you think about it?
Stop all the thinking, instincts is how you kill a giant
They might stocking up rubbers and robbing prisons for taxes
Death and that shit
Everyone trying to be the king of this landfill
Probably get just a hill of bodies, you stand still, you cancelled
[?] settling down they hit the pedal
The pen, and then pawn your metal
You're drowning in exhaustion
And lost in the smoke is a chokin'
And unspoken, and human urge, and unprovoked
It is all good with professional posture
The thought stirs and murders the motherfucker quicker than not [Hook]

[Bridge]
Meet up in the parking lot
Taking off, sparking up
Do that shit again
Meet up in the parking lot
Taking off, sparking up
Pass it to a friend
Got the spaceship in the parking lot
Spark a lot
Take it off
Do that shit again
Always chill up in the parking lot
When the block it hot
Taking off, ya

[Verse 3: Daveed Diggs]
Get fly baby, they die regular
Don't want to just deteriorate on a cellular level
The devil is a meddling motherfucker
That [?] for all these fucking guns
You can bust into uncles and nieces and cousins going to war
Blowing the score
Pedalling pedals for more guns than a Scorsese blockbuster
Bust the block, show stop
Mustard to mayonnaise
Make the cars hop scotch
Soda, pop, cap
Doesn't [?] a pound of who can rap
And a pound of who can ball
And the rest of ya'll
Welcome to the trap get ready for war
Welcome to the hood go and cover your head
For the patron saint Treyvon and bring out your dead
Ring the alarm under the sound is drowning
And the beat it banging so hard that you can't get a shout in

[Hook]