Lyrics Sunday - Earl Sweatshirt, Frank Ocean

Sunday

I know it don’t seem difficult to hit you up
But you not passionate about half the shit that you into
And I ain’t havin' it
And we both know that I don’t mean to offend you
I’m just focused today
And I don’t know why it’s difficult to admit that I miss you
And I don’t know why we argue, and I just hope that you listen
And if I hurt you, I’m sorry, the music makes me dismissive
When I’m awake I’m just drifting, I’m not complaining
It’s just to say that I stay pretty busy, lately
And I could be misbehaving, I just hang with my niggas
I’m fuckin' famous if you forgot, I’m faithful
Despite all what’s in my face and my pocket
And this is painfully honest
And when I say it I vomit, on cloudy days when I’m salty
I play the hate to the logic
State to state for the profit, it ain’t a stain on me, nigga
My momma raised me a prophet, I play for dollar incentive
And where I’m walking, it’s studded, and half-retarded, I stumble
To where she park when she visit, I grab the bottle and chug it
I see the car in the distance, I know the dark isn’t coming
For the moment, if I could hold it
See, it seems that
All my dreams got dimmer when I stopped smoking pot
Nightmares got more vivid when I stopped smoking pot
And loving you is a little different, I don’t like you a lot
You see, it seems like, um
I’m coming back, I gotta handle business
Vanish to my sleeper seat, left you at terminal three
I’ll meet you down at baggage claim in a couple weeks, a fortnight
When you parade my homecoming, don’t cry
You know I can’t live in any place I visit
To live and die in LA
I got my Fleetwood Mac, I could get high every day
But I’d be sleepy, OCD and paranoid, so
Give me Bali beach, no molly, please, palm, no marijuana trees
Your hickeys on my aorta, and tattoos you could only see
When I’m playing surfboarder, put whiskey in that salt water
I emptied every canteen
Just to wear that straight-edge varsity you think’s cool
They called me soft in high school, thank God I’m jagged
Forgot you don’t like it rough, I mean, he called me a faggot
I was just calling his bluff
I mean, how anal am I gon' be when I’m aiming my gun?
And why’s his mug all bloody?
That was a three-on-one
Standing ovation at Staples, I got my Grammys and gold
Polka dots on my Brit, I’m not supposed to be stunting
It’s all melodic, this song
I catch this vibe in my sleep, but I’m just jet-lagged is all
And restless
All my dreams got more vivid when I stopped smoking pot
Nightmares got more vivid when I stopped smoking pot
Loving you’s a little different I don’t like you a lot
I mean… fuck
I don’t know what we’re about
What good is West Coast weather if you’re bi-polar?
If I’ma need this sweater, I’d rather be where it’s cold
Where it snows, I see how it goes
I put the flowers in bowls, I know they’re coming in droves
You’ll only miss when it goes
Yeah, I think that’s it
When it goes