"Wait 'till you see my Kids" Lyrics

Me and Fat Joe sat inside the back of an industrial-strength delivery van
I couldn't catch a clear view of the drivers face
But I could tell it wasn't a feminine friend
The ground plans for battle were all laid
We were just takin' some time to kick it, eat grapes and parlay
It was just him and me in a van with the gate agate
We taste the grapes, spit the seeds in the street

The highway was a scalpel splicing the sands
Impressive impression of man's demand for the connection of lands
I look back at Joe and laugh
Give the grapes a puff and a pass, spitting another seed out of the back
Joe squints his eyes, lets out a sound that can only be described as
A laughter and a sad goodbye
His pale olive fingers pry another one of the fruits of the vine

"We should return in ten years time"
I ask him why
"So we can drink the wine from the orchard that has grown
From the seeds we alone cast aside"
As the sun sank lower on the sand
Dust sprayed from the tyres that picked up the grains
Displayed them in spirals

Held the last grape up to eclipse the sun
The breeze plucked from my fingers and the lunch was done

My father was an engine driver
Grandpa fought some wars
Hope that I can maybe size up
Leave my mark at all

My father was an engine driver
Grandpa fought a wars
Hope that I can maybe size up
Leave my mark at all

Me and Tupac Shakur sat inside a doughnut shop
Sharing a dozen and watching our coffee cooling
One by one the box slowly emptied
From the cakes to crullers and at last the fancies
Pac sighed aloud so I could hear him

"Doughnuts are communism"
I asked him why
He said "Better in theory"
We laughed and scratched the sleep from our eyes
He said "This is ridiculous - twelve is too much half a dozen wastes our time"
"And every time we order twelve thinking we can handle it"
"Every time we end up pissed because we made our stomachs sick"
We both laugh a bit - gingerly sip our coffee
His fingers scrape the table top and he digs in it softly
And I watch him there - carving, scraping - sitting in silence
Engraves his name with the word "westside" beside it

Underneath the orange veneer of the doughnut shop gear
There's an earthy brown flesh that excavation makes appear
Year after year Pac and I return there
Table that he claimed with the matching bench chairs
Chug the last of our coffee and step to leave
Say "Peace" to the clerk, she says "Goodbye" in Chinese
Clutching our sick stomachs we both struggle to speak
Shake our heads, split our waists and say "See you next week"

My father was an engine driver
Grandpa fought some wars
Hope that I can maybe size up
Leave my mark at all

Leave my mark at all