
Date of issue: 20.09.2018
Song language: English
thinking while eating a handful of almonds |
You wind up building chapels, lamenting homies |
Bending phones 'round labyrinth walls, damn it all to low hell |
It’s him who thought «oh well"to life’s entirety |
They tried knighting me nightly, calling it therapy |
Why do you wear at me? |
My nig, I used to skip daily |
When whim was the only thing worth aiming for |
Say no more, Pagliacci, bad photocopy |
Once again, from the top now |
I hate how rap look from the top down |
Coarse seed and bottle on forefinger |
Oh, how the remorse lingers |
In a past life, I used to hate the bad guy |
And realize it was a lack of personal effort |
Now I’m weaponized |
It was a lack of personal effort |
Now I’m weaponized |
It was a lack of personal effort |
Fist full of cops cops, breathing like Bruce Bruce |
At this point, it’s the hunger steering mostly |
Foul mouth flow, time traveling, toasting |
A likkle labor and a red penny |
Sure it dazzles, but continues to fly over my head |
As the violet smiles, violence piles in spreadsheets |
It occurred to me that I had outgrown doubt |
Practicing carpentry like a green almond |
Swimming as a giddy dolphin, my lil boy smiles often |
And that’s my pan to see pandolce |
Now I know how they scare easy |
As I snatch square head tares from palms greasy |
And that’s my pan to see pandolce |
I realize it was a lack of personal effort |
And now I’m weaponized, now I’m weaponized |
It was a lack of personal effort |
Now I’m weaponized, now I’m weaponized |
Doom and glory, and knowing who you are |
Did you know that I know who I am? |
No, I know, no, no, no, no, I, I know |
The law’s an anagram for wealth |
My black ark is parked |
Where Amy Schumer isn’t targeted marketing |
I live inside a computer too |
But I wrote this on a backyard hilltop |
Thinking about how to get them before they get me |