Lyrics Prototypes - CYNE

Prototypes

Since my youth I’ve commenced and vibed with the truth
Inside, I was intense.
Youth was innocent
I bless with my mom’s arms, caress from forms of harm
Yes, we born to progress
I hardly can recall—partly from withdrawal trauma
Partly from the scum up, but my mama, she pardoned me
To see her angel take form regardless
Entangled in divided states
The storm of retarded hits the hardest
Conformed and separated in states they parted
On color lines.
My mother shine.
Listen (What?)
She cultured me to be divine.
I’m
Here to be sincere.
In time, I’ll disappear—that's fine
'Long as wrong has been declined and the unjust
Crushed, injustice rushed—this just us
So we fight on the slave ship from all that slave shit
United, leave this bitch.
Seen as you please
I bring my ease to this shit.
Please believe
This moment, they don’t want it 'cause we joining—it's an omen
Long as we lost, roaming.
Foaming in the dust
Zone-independent, we adjust to this unjustice
Sinning of recessive cloning.
Aggressive killer
The dollar bill the father of all falls
All divides choose sides.
We tryna change tides
We gain strides.
We aim high
No, this ain’t about bling, God
Nah
Nah, this ain’t about bling, God (Nah)
Nah, this ain’t about bling, God (Nah)
Nah, this ain’t about bling, God (Nah)
Nah, this ain’t about… It’s about redemption
Birth.
Acceptance.
Disturbed.
Great
Hurt.
Hate.
Break
We are, are, are, are, are… (African Prototypes)
Superstar, boom-bap rhyme fiend, misfit
Dark child, schoolboy write life, spit sick
Succumbing to world like boy does a girl, yo
Can’t live with or without this feel of
Solitude’s shrug—no love
See, they laughed when I finally spoke, so mom, I need a hug
Squeeze me and tell me I’m beautiful
Don’t put me in a class with people that’s cruel to
A brown-skinned immigrant.
I really can’t take it
«Yo, I heard in Africa, they run around naked»
Nah, nigga.
Fuck you—how can I coexist with ignorant
Assholes taught by a system acknowledging hatred and Bush manifesto?
That was like '89—it's hard to forget those days
In the classroom.
I’m writing down poetry
Words on a paper to escape pain close to me
Stres and he understanding truth in the gospel
Believing in Jesus—not.
Fuck apostles
I’m voice in a crowd.
Young, black, and proud, y’all
Redemption caught in the momentary bliss
'Cause the monetary world got a nigga balling fists
(Prototypes).
African prototypes.
(African prototypes).
Redemption.
We are (African prototypes. We African prototypes).
We are justified.
(African prototypes).
Realness.
We are (We African prototype)