Party Time (feat. Defcee)

from Smoke Detector by Rich Jones

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lyrics

(Rich Jones)
Do what I gotta just to cross the finish line
What then?
Do what I gotta just to cross the finish line
What then?

Party time

Party time

Party time

Thought it was given that I’d see next summer
The way we disappear
I’m starting to wonder
What’s around every corner
Got my neck feeling sore
From looking over my shoulder
On the way to the store
What for, what for
I don’t wanna guess
Dirty butter or they didn’t like the smell of my breath
I’d just heard they’d sent for me
Shit
Fade in
I’m faded for the 3000th day
Mr. 3000, trading card
Hall of Fame
Party time
What you got inside that paper plane?
Stupid question
Stupid dank
Like it was grown in the depths
Of oceans,
Go + see it, need a scuba tank
Or a submarine
Suicide missions,
Might as well stay serene
A living version
Of the “Everything’s fine” meme

(Defcee)
C-note boat to a cocaine paradise.
Richard Pryor Fahrenheit.
Minks keep the Farrahs right
Are those spinnin mirrors or thinnin ice?
Winkin lights
shinin like Christ upon righteousness and sin alike
White lines, double yellows, and wide lanes
Fine blades
Ichabod Crainin the Pai Meis
Village torches burn in glass
Late bloomers learnin fast
For history to repeat, you gotta earn the past
Ask for more
Gasp as the body parties crash
The floor.
Gold confetti, tag the toe
First to try, always last to know
The clinic reattached your nose
The devil stole it
Hard to grow away from stems with your petals folded,
And the vials in the concrete are never roses.
High off your own supplier
Bounced from Studio 54 by the other Michael Myers
A backstage eight ball is your ticket for showtime,
Meanwhile you’re up shit's creek, swimming in low tide
Goldmine of cosigns tried to make you go to rehab,
And you sure did, insides like a rope bridge.
Change gon come, and here you are ten years later,
Still waiting on that solstice.
Least you got no kids,
just a lease on a garden apartment you ain't lived in since '06
So much money
So much space
So much time
So little grace
You and your discipline are going at it like middleweights.
Sayin sorry, on step 9, with a twitchy face.
Smoking cigarettes tryna write songs
Outside the studio in your Impala
While everybody inside is rolling up ganja,
You’re calling up your sponsor
Your biggest enemy's nostalgia.

credits

from Smoke Detector, released June 15, 2022

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about

Rich Jones Chicago, Illinois

Rich Jones is a prolific Chicago artist, community figure, and veteran of the cultural scene. Known for his versatile and evolving style, his latest album How do you sleep at night? finds him returning to his Hip Hop roots as he tackles class complacency, complicity under American authoritarianism and the value of human life vs. what’s profitable. ... more