Lyrics Scattered - CYNE

Scattered

It’s like
Me versus tragedy.
I don’t know, man
Where do I belong in this?
I need to find home—can
Somebody help me?
Soul search is hard
Work, no pay and I hurt, I
Hurt—that's from open wounds.
But hope to blow soon
So I can stop bitching ‘bout the life and sing a happy tune
«Like eeny, meeny, miny, moe.»
Nope
Hip hop is lost, niggas kidnapped the flow and blow
Smoke to hear the little voice too shy to speak
Imagination run, run to Enoch beat, and beat
Life to a nigga either dead-asleep
The martyr and the fool, I’ll rep both in my speech
That’s Kwame in the house.
N-word, I can’t repeat
That’s fame on the hill.
Baby, view so sweet
A future ideal killed, ear to the street bump
Y’all awaiting that new shit, new shit
That tried and true shit, it’s true, shit
Ever since Time Being, it seemed that I’m seeing
Love and hate on the block, cock-kissing.
I’m fleeing
Play this when I’m back home (Back home)
But ‘til then, bless the catalog—I'm gone!
Can’t crash into it
Do it left, we rep and move it
Moving sideways?
No, never
Alright, some, like, so clever
They, they so all like
«They, they popular»
Can’t be popular
I want
Clean «Water for Chocolate» flowing out of the faucet
‘Cause sweets can’t sustain my thirst for first knowledge
Tired of the garbage, but sift through for honest, but
I gotta pay homage to those who rose polished
Each to his own, let’s rise to the occasion
The power of a monsoon break United Nations
Put it back together to help people wherever
Sudan was a genocide, but you said, «Whatever»
Turn a blind eye to those who hurt worst
And we wonder why these storms are now raging the earth
Prayers in the sky and a wish to find solace
Preacher man quiet and the poor spit—holla
Labor pains of these changing days, I change
My ways, and now I’ma wait for rain
Certain things will remain the same for better
For worse, and other things’ll wash away
Hey, hello, Africa
Stand up, tell me how are you?
Are you you?
Smile for me
For me, me.
OK, don’t forget
Progress.
Me, you, him, and her
Alert, work more or less
Freedom, one in music
Move it into Grey Matters
I guess
Everybody voting for Jack ‘cause he got high hopes
It’s misery plus beauty, me and Clyde wrote
Yeah, and for them sons and daughters
Walk upright.
Peace to Jacobi Porter
You had my back when it tried me
That was ‘95, dawg.
I still spit IV
Yeah, and that’s poison for them whores
The fast food rap stars—call ‘em Mandy Moore
Yeah, and to Diego Iborra
Wish you the best—it was love when I saw ya
And its Horror, a Rocky Picture showing
Bodies on the floor in ruins, niggas not knowing
I keep flowing fluid, «Running Water» poems, sketch
Hope ‘til my wrist break and pen’s overflowing
Yeah, the pen’s overflowing