Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song ((((((antennas)))))) feat. Masta Ace, artist - MC Paul BarmanDate of issue: 23.04.2018
Song language: English
((((((antennas)))))) feat. Masta Ace |
| This animal style is like an annual trial |
| Trying to turn state’s evidence with a manual dial, that’s hard |
| Now zoom in and tune in to my frequency |
| Steppin' to the AM and slam 'em all in secrecy |
| My sound waves go deeper than underground caves |
| Pitchin' in Atlanta, you know I’m mowin' down braves |
| Don’t be a hero 'cause yo, that’s a sandwich, man |
| Crazy plans in my land, you’ll get banished man |
| Try me on, impeach |
| Find me on the beach |
| Grimy on the speech |
| Just like an old Spanish man |
| «Maricón,» you can’t be me like a body clone |
| In the hoods where I kick it like Karate Tone |
| This man spit right in the face of what you transmit |
| Holding on to relevance, hoping that your hands slip |
| And you fall into obscurity |
| Walkie talkie antennas with no security, praying mantis |
| You really ought to weigh your chances |
| This yellow brick road stay stormy like a day in Kansas |
| And then another twister touch |
| Yo, I’m on a roll like I twist the Dutch |
| I’m on a roll like I twist the Dutch |
| I’m on a roll |
| But I don’t smoke though, nah |
| We’re all one, just different lumps of protoplasm |
| Every moment of joy counts as a bonus 'gasm |
| Each pore is an ear, from the shore to the skier |
| The core of the tear is the doorway to the here and now |
| We’re an owl |
| I’m an orphan in Syria, I’m a more fortunate peer |
| A warm tent appears near the torment and fear |
| Our origin is clear, we’re the source of the seer |
| I’m a self in sheep’s clothing, a wealth of cheap loathing |
| Knowing nothing full well, compelled to keep going |
| Come for the wordplay, stay for the high voice |
| Return for the rhythms, move in with 'em by choice |
| If you didn’t like me on other beats, you’ll love me on this one |
| I didn’t change anything, repeat yourself, it’s fun |
| Kids' friends think I’m deeply flawed |
| And if I fix ten things, ten more will keep me odd |
| We feel conflicting agendas rise and fall |
| What we call our identity tries to synthesize them all |
| But there’s another option |
| Wise guys and dolls can watch them go by like flies on the wall |
| The Cindy mole is wabi sabi |
| The indie goal is job as hobby |
| Don’t hyperfocus on your diaper crocus |
| Just change your drawers and wipe your tochus |
| Beliefs are the police of the mind, chiefly designed to relieve us of our |
| fiefdoms of time resigned |
| «Said no one ever,» said no one ever |
| Every text from my father was meant for my brother |
| I believe that we will win |
| Me and grief, my evil twin |
| My third ventricle got blocked |
| But word tentacles could not stop so energy clogged, overheated, and hotboxed |
| So I pictured galaxies and reached out to Cathy’s anchor |
| And it yanked me to Earth’s surface, thanked her |
| I’m not doing a Patreon just to find another format for you people to hate me on |
| I’m from the flirtatious Cretaceous era |
| Back when we asked girls on dates and faced the terror |
| But I’ll leave the bitchin' and moanin' to the rich Roman old men |
| Young cats make dope raps, don’t act like there’s a glitch in the moment |