Grits: Comin' home

Bonafied: was put in the mix 'bout '86 and ever since I ranfromHis plan to further mans understanding throughexpansion of minds, heart, body, and soul controlledby the deity of three formed as oneThe son of prodigy me Bonafied the MC straight fromthe Tenna the center fo my location of operations formissions completionsFranklin my mental releases dime piece stillNashville, Knob Hill, where I chill on the realhittin' home...Coffee:Ponder the thoughts all the money spent on uselessthings I boughtAfro wigs and Courtney Cox dollsFramed pictures of Richard Moll Robbins sonsLike Holly, so thick you could drive a trolleythroughmy follyPardon me like Dolly in two halves same as the RedSeaI glimpse the open hands instead of reprimand thatfedmeSaid we can journey to places far off, thinkin' tomyself, " first I need to drop my car off."Chorus: I'm comin' home DaddyMake sure you keep the gate openI'm loosened from all the worldly pleasure DaddyI'm comin home DaddyMeet me outside greet me with yourarms extended DaddyI'm comin home.Coffee:Take and EPT so phat hope I ain't pregnantTo this nasty world that would be more entertainingthan CedricAnd I would be Dug-less like Fredric by all my peersPurchase maternity gear at SearsSuccumb to all their jeers and their tauntsShedding tears for all my wants and desiresPray to God I'm absent when the world erupts withfireKevin Costner dances with flames with a dousingRichard PryorRevelation called it everything is scalded...Bonafied: Kickin' up dust who could I trustRush like Paula Abdul cruelThis world served me sadness for acting the foolMy mind was a tool used for worldly occupationSleepless nights spent with my knees bentConversations with the upper case requesting strengthwhen opposition moved in with plans of ambush andattackAt my weakest moments wishin' my life could be backUnder His will been left the thrill searchin' for thepath to the gate of my crib where my Daddy live...ChorusCoffee:The smell of seals, a bird, and a monkey, mixed withthe stench of junkies best describes my kind of funkySpunky spastic, your life can't be recycled so whyyoulivin' plasticYour insides are all dirty, why does your outsidelooks fantasticDevil couldn't wait to get his hands on youConformed you, turned your gold to Ormolu, now shameon youMade a dame of youYou say, "Whatever" well the same to youSplittin' like an atom, I got things to do.Bonafied: Do who, you me too?My desires expiredDismiss my riches stay in Heavenly clenched fistsSwiss account-type interestNo man's hands can touchUncorrupted with the pureness of innocence and suchMind sets not in agreance with all of my peepsAbsence of scams for yams numbered in heaps knee deepThey cram to understand the faith of this manUntil then when comprehension of sin-free lifestyleluchildI'm headed home where I know it's gonna' be easierpleasin' ya' DaddyI'm headed home...