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“Dealers Night Out” (c) by Solitary Rider aka Andyboy Georgia
night falls down on Boston
and the lights beam from the shore
in a South End bar my drop comes
I send the barkeep for a pour
when my Guinness is through, get my ass out the door
I’ve had nothing’ to do, but now it’s dealer’s night out night out
lounging in the heavens, in a Fort Point artist loft
I ascend to bring the product and they don’t care what the cost
and it’s old money, new money top dollar whore
when my business is through- hit the button, ground floor, ground floor
and there’s always the next cravin’ more, sendin’ texts, ‘Call me, Oh call me’
but when my cookie jar’s clean and I’m flush with the bling, they blame me, blame me
and I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care
rusty, fading colors in a Fenway parking lot
he stoops to puke his guts out, as I cook him up a shot
and the damage I do, oh it's par for the course
hand the needle to you-cause it’s dealer’s, night out, night out
