| Oh, it’s a gnat in here
|
| Get out of here, gnat
|
| You got something to tell me, gnat?
|
| You got something you want to tell me, gnat?
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| Huh? |
| Alright
|
| Cuff my nuts, place myself on house arrest
|
| Locked in, judge, jury, bailiff, bet
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| When it rains, I’m dry, sun shines, I’m wet
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| Push up demons, fuck it, doin' 'bout 50, 11 sets
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| Ignoring your texts like sweet babies who cry in the church
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| Or if your partner got popped yesterday and school come first
|
| My favorite color’s yellow, maybe 'cause I’m mellow
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| And I got so much style, it’s probably 'cause I’m ghetto
|
| My mommy never cooked a Cosby dinner
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| And often times I took a L for Mrs. Winters
|
| But I’m getting off the subject
|
| Off the boat, got my luggage but the quote
|
| Pack light starts to echo through my mind
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| So I’m rushing now, hushing now
|
| Laid my suitcase down like prom night
|
| Zipped it open started pulling out
|
| Tossin' memories, socks, thoughts who pretend to be
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| Boxer briefs, pants, pictures of frenemies killing me
|
| To make room, room, room, for the light
|
| Lately I been sober, chasin' new highs
|
| Cut the cord to my bungee
|
| You can be yourself, don’t be shy
|
| Take your time, don’t you rush things
|
| Thought I bought a Rollie, but forget that, I didn’t need it
|
| Just let that holy water wash over my Caesar dressing
|
| Like that Thursday in November, know that they’ll remember style
|
| Boil it then let it simmer down, we blowing smoke between the breeze
|
| The twists are Senegalese
|
| No more Backwoods blown, we ride the rings of memories
|
| We wired the intricacies of our logic, no hands in my pocket
|
| Still got my hand on my weapon
|
| He more Malcolm than Martin, a bit more Baldwin than both
|
| You need a cauldron for mixing a black man’s soul into soup
|
| So many fishbowls can’t cope, you cracking jokes 'bout the soap
|
| We more concerned with the truth
|
| You niggas burning the booth, these niggas burning the wick at both ends
|
| Fade to black I’m ghosting in the light
|
| Lately I been waking up at night, tryna to beat the day
|
| Overconfident, I can’t be Issa Rae
|
| To make room, room, room, for the light
|
| Lately I been sober, chasin' new highs
|
| Cut the cord to my bungee
|
| You can be yourself, don’t be shy (Yeah)
|
| Take your time, don’t you rush things
|
| I know what I know, but you heard what you heard
|
| So you poked your head in, got suspicion confirmed
|
| Been on my feet for miles, so my soul got some burn
|
| Still it’s fuck how you feel on my bottle of pills
|
| If you can’t hold me down then you don’t get a turn
|
| Yeah, yeah, fame is less worse, nothing sacred no more
|
| Either take what you want or you make what you earn
|
| If I kill you, I promise, I’ll pray for you first, like
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| Ooh-ooh (Hallelujah, Hallelujah)
|
| If you love me, grease my scalp with this 380 in my lap, like
|
| Ooh, yeah
|
| To make room, room, room, for the light (What's the worst thing that could
|
| happen? |
| Use the answer to relapse)
|
| Lately I been sober, chasin' new highs
|
| Cut the cord to my bungee
|
| You can be yourself, don’t be shy (Yeah)
|
| Take your time, don’t you rush things |