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Artist: Strong Arm Steady f/ Phonte
Album:  In Search of Stoney Jackson
Song:   Best of Times
Typed by:

"Hi, hahahahaha, the first thing I have to tell you is this
 This city was made from the original music
 It is not a counterfeit, this is the real one
 This one is true, this one is real"

[Phil the Agony]
Yeah, William Cosby sweaters
There's only one thing better than cheddar
If life is a puzzle, I put it together
I'm like DMC, my +Run+ +Tougher Than Leather+
I come from an era of golf hats
Ball caps, pimp hats with feathers
Plaid slacks with the button-up jackets to match
I blast at any knucklehead fucking with rap
I got to chuckle at that, rap black belt
Motherfucker but the buckle is back
Pro-rap, what you wanna do? Nothing with that
You suck like a hoe on figaro and you wack
Niggas know it and they talk to your back
Behind closed doors and get a good laugh
Like that factory that niggas in rap
Your name ain't Seinfield if you black
My clientele sell more than the crack that Reagan let in
Fuck your Meagan Good friend at the Holiday Inn
She look like her twin

[Chorus: Phonte]
One thing's for certain, two things for sure
No where to work and, no way to grow
A crazy place, we all praying for the best of times
Ohh yeah, yea-yeah-eaah

My mind is like a piecebook
I can't get no peace wherever I look
My own worst enemy, even the evil get shook
for the violence, the fans turn finicky
Silly of me to think that I
could untie that ribbon in the sky
Senior citizens in line
The end sure isn't as pure to require that same sugar high
Rely on religion if your heart's missing
It won't work, certain it's all written
Emerge, make 'em all listen
Some rehearse them devilish words and put the hurt in 'em
I mean put the hurting on 'em, with or without warning
Been a whole year, shed a tear for him
A year since I heard from him
I don't care, I know where I'm going


Yo, everybody got the blues and it's evident
Got workers losing they jobs and they residence
And overseas niggas filing out
Straight wilding out, tossing they shoes at the president
It make me think about the loot that I shell out
If times get tight will the show still sell out?
Po' folk need help, they call it welfare
When rich folk need it, then y'all call it a bail out
It make me wanna yell out, but I just chill
Because the love for my fam is priceless
Long as I got them we'll be able to fight this
Cause nigga I'm black, I was born in a financial crisis, shit!
So no eulogies, and no two-to-threes
I'll survive cause being broke ain't new to me
New opportunities and ways to grind
Respect your mind and celebrate the best of times
Now let's ride


[Phonte] - {repeat to end}
Good times, good times