Magical Man by Lack of Afro Lyrics
Yeah, I got a little story to tell
It's about a boy named Peter I knew a long time ago
I always used to see him on the corner
On a block (You know?)
Let me tell you a story and I'ma tell it well
Boy from a city of madness, call it a living hell
Pockets always empty, his brains lacking the cells
Lack of bright ideas so he rather go into sales
Of the white magic
You can hear the panic in his talk
His gun heavy, you can see the lean in his walk
He barely made it past a teen, you can see that
Even in his sleep he's thinking 'bout the dollars
Busting through the seams
What you tryna say?
(He's a mean motha, watch your mouth)
Little Peter got the heater, little dude is the man
Gold chain, wife beater, tooth pick in his hand
Front porch, all the fiends come to Neverland
Little bit of the pixie dust from Peter Pan
He's making the neighborhood fly (Fly)
His lows profit from your highs (Highs)
His pockets expand with every little bag
Turned a rock into a diamond, what a magical man
What you tryna say?
(He's a mean motha, watch your mouth)
Magic Man is for the people
The fiends feverishly fiending for freedom
From his devilish hands
Devilish man with the devilish plan
To have devilish little treats on every corner you stand
'Cause evil's always greater when it's high in demand
He don't discriminate, everybody inside of his bag
The more souls he collects, the richer the man
The richer the soil from every body he plants, you see
Peter always had a knack for peddling crack
Smack, anything you need (I promise, anything, man)
He lives in every single block, he lives in the heart of the man
Whose mind is trapped in the gutter tryna climb through the trash
Tryna reach the top any way that he can
The fast life seems the fastest way out
But little Peter, man
Little Peter dug his grave while he was tryna climb out, uh
It's about a boy named Peter I knew a long time ago
I always used to see him on the corner
On a block (You know?)
Let me tell you a story and I'ma tell it well
Boy from a city of madness, call it a living hell
Pockets always empty, his brains lacking the cells
Lack of bright ideas so he rather go into sales
Of the white magic
You can hear the panic in his talk
His gun heavy, you can see the lean in his walk
He barely made it past a teen, you can see that
Even in his sleep he's thinking 'bout the dollars
Busting through the seams
What you tryna say?
(He's a mean motha, watch your mouth)
Little Peter got the heater, little dude is the man
Gold chain, wife beater, tooth pick in his hand
Front porch, all the fiends come to Neverland
Little bit of the pixie dust from Peter Pan
He's making the neighborhood fly (Fly)
His lows profit from your highs (Highs)
His pockets expand with every little bag
Turned a rock into a diamond, what a magical man
What you tryna say?
(He's a mean motha, watch your mouth)
Magic Man is for the people
The fiends feverishly fiending for freedom
From his devilish hands
Devilish man with the devilish plan
To have devilish little treats on every corner you stand
'Cause evil's always greater when it's high in demand
He don't discriminate, everybody inside of his bag
The more souls he collects, the richer the man
The richer the soil from every body he plants, you see
Peter always had a knack for peddling crack
Smack, anything you need (I promise, anything, man)
He lives in every single block, he lives in the heart of the man
Whose mind is trapped in the gutter tryna climb through the trash
Tryna reach the top any way that he can
The fast life seems the fastest way out
But little Peter, man
Little Peter dug his grave while he was tryna climb out, uh