Scared Money

Album:The Inevitable Rise And Liberation Of NiggyTardust!

Length:3:49

Tempo:{{{BPM}}} BPM

Versions:Scared Money

Live:N/A

"Scared Money" was produced by Trent Reznor for Saul Williams' third studio album, The Inevitable Rise And Liberation Of NiggyTardust!.

Saul Williams on "Scared Money"

"This is the first song I recorded after releasing my self-titled album, thus the true first song of NiggyTardust. It also the first song I played for Trent when he asked what direction my new music was heading and suggested us collaborating. I remember it got stuck in his head, which is a good sign and also him telling me that he thought it sounded confident. He replayed a lot of stuff and added some very soulful organ. My son loves this song because its his musical debut. He's in the background saying "I am the king" in Lee Scratch Perry fashion. The cutest part is when he says "I am the Kinggy", which we both laugh about. Kinggy is Niggy's nickname... or what white people should call him if they'd rather not call him Curtis."

Song Credits

• Music by Saul Williams (Punk Rock of Gibralrar/EMI)
• Words by Saul Williams (Punk Rock of Gibralrar/EMI)
• Vox: Saul Williams
• Background Vocals: Xuly Azaro

Appearances

Other

• The Inevitable Rise And Liberation Of NiggyTardust!

Versions

Scared Money

This version is heard on The Inevitable Rise And Liberation Of NiggyTardust!.

Lyrics

    Scared money don’t make none.
    
    Callin’ haves and have-nots, every cell on the block, every NGH with trigger empty barreled or cocked.
    March in like Parade of Scars if you’ve been stabbed or shot.
    Son, we smokin’ these batons right in front of these cops.
    Callin’ out to the kids, all my NGHs with bids, whether suited up or booted up or stuck in the mid.
    You can download it or boot it up. My pupils, un-lid. 
    All my students of the underground with record store gigs.
    Callin’ out to the girls, the inventors of worlds, the intelligence of relevance and elegant pearls,
    pour like nectar from the lotus, Big Bang opus in swirls down the sweaty backs of hairweave tracks and dry jheri curls. 
    Callin out to the pimps, hat-cocked slump with your gimp on your wrist with just a twist a lime to go with that limp. 
    Hold your cup up so this ancient rain can find its way in. Let these suckas know the cost of reaching heavenly bliss. Yes.
    
    Scared money don’t make none. 
    
    It was all a dream.
    I used to fantasize I was Malcolm…or Martin in the pulpit: the ballot or the bullet.
    I swear, I used to pray to change back the year when NGHs spoke of MTHRSHPS with space helmets for hair.
    Well, now what have we here? Thugs and Poets. Oh, yeah.

External Links

Coming soon.