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Weapon (Bastille Vs. Angel Haze Vs. F*U*G*Z Vs. Braque)

de Bastille

Greyhound, Megabus, clothes in a plastic bag
From shelter to shelter, six kids with no dad
She left the city for a better life
Ran to a small town
Where the population was mostly white
Racial undertones, trying to get back home
With barely enough to keep shirts on my backbone

Now ain't this real life
Numb to what pain feel like
Demons knocking like the sound of steel pipes
Same lady who gave birth never left my hometown
But she the reason I travelled the earth
Locked the door, my uncle's going through her purse
"Wake your brother up, they're giving free meals at church"
And I can't justify how my daddy could black your eye
Now my sister can't trust a guy
We never had much, but we had us
And my brother found home in a pair of handcuffs

How am I gonna get myself back home?
I-I-I, I-I-I, I-I-I
The sound of bullets bounce
As I write raps in the kitchen
Daddy in a cell trying to hold his ambition
Witness the transition from a boy to a martyr
Sell dope but go to school to be a barber
The ghetto's like a prison
You locked but you still living
Barely breathing up until if you're leaving

But home is where the hate is
And my cousin ain't thirty yet
But she's got eight kids
Half look up to me
But the other half rarely fuck with me
'Cause apparently, they think I see myself as better
I see my songs as simply therapy
Now let's go back to that whole Greyhound bus bit

Mama worked there for old white folks
Wiping up shit
Tryna save ships, now close your eyes and envision
How she turned a bus ride
Into a spaceship
How am I gonna get myself back home?
I-I-I, I-I-I, I-I-I
Oh, how am I gonna get myself back home?
I-I-I, I-I-I, I-I-I

My home is comprised of many elements
Grandaddy was a junkie and found home
In a needle filled with daily medicine
Home is far less based on physicality
(The birds are mocking me)
But embracing the mentality that you can turn
Even the harshest conditions
Into an optimistic galaxy

(They call to be heard)
Come home daddy, it's okay now
(The birds are mocking me)
All the tears are dried up
Mama's in a better place now
No guns unless they're video games
(They curse my return)
But there's a darker side to sex
Rock and roll and cocaine
Come home

How am I gonna get myself back home?
I-I-I, I-I-I, I-I-I
How am I gonna get myself back home?
I-I-I, I-I-I, I-I-I
From the basement, to the ceiling
Going back home to replace this feeling
From the basement, to the ceiling
Going back home to replace this feeling

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