All that theoretical analysis
dissolves into sour light of day
Working-man hand callused from whipping on those slaves
The trees was just OK
but took them as balance for when we in them big waves
It's always a line for the buffet
Fancy carbon stations with cheap steaks
Cheapskates show up starving
Work their way from shrimp scampi to cheesecake
Candy yams
Hams, honey-baked, cheesy mac swimming on the plate
Roast beef trimmings sitting in a gravy lake
Discount meats smuggled in silk purses and breast pockets
The drip was real
Brick chicken, it's not the same
as what your man used to sell but
Not entirely different
Miso glaze on the salmon cover the smell
You have to admire the kitchen
Everybody had to yell 'cause the music was loud
The music was loud 'cause everybody yelling
it's hard to tell
Caribbean lobster tails on glaciers
Fishscale sniffed out of folded paper
Pail full of crab shell by the table
Still moving from dumb waiters
Children snivel and wail
Buffet line inch forward like snails
Line for the bathroom, snake right past
My companion's fake laughing in a living hell
There's five types of weed under my fingernails
A million ways to die and no limit to what we can sell
Buckshot in the quail
Crack your crown
In for a penny? My nigga we in for the pound