| Sipping a scummy pint
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| Money is tight
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| Clumsy is night
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| High dunk types skunking the lights
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| Funny they fight for no cause
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| Only to hide in those bars
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| And scoff from their L.A. lofts at smoke laws
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| Fashion friendly the the act of trendy
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| Laugh past you then master the craft of envy
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| The Pabst half empty
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| That or an M.G.D.
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| Have an mp3 on me
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| Now invent me
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| Blog writers turn snob drivers for ad space
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| A cog for hire
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| The admires of fast pace business
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| Infiltrate to earn the pass
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| So now the privileged can imitate the working class
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| And get they street cred
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| Tradder Joes and wheat bread
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| Catering their nose on the weekend
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| See them on the deep end
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| In the neon the city sleeps in
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| And me just another pee on
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| Man meet me where the leash ends
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| I need to find a home
|
| I’m looking for a home
|
| I’m thinking of a home
|
| I’m dreaming of a home
|
| The people need a home
|
| A man who needs a home
|
| A woman and a home
|
| Cus when the lights go off
|
| And the show has been played
|
| And you’ve got nothing but the smell of smoke to your name
|
| And a mirror that you look at
|
| Feeling the hook for every chance you took
|
| You need to look back
|
| Searching for a home
|
| Lovers of apathy and irony
|
| These Iron Sheiks lining the streets
|
| Designer cheap blind eyeing me
|
| Lying asleep how they be finding me
|
| Relying on the files I leak
|
| Between the idols
|
| The sheep seeking the style they keep
|
| Needing a remedy
|
| As Ceci N’est Pas Une Pipe
|
| Feeds they identity
|
| Evolve
|
| They too self involved
|
| Their too many
|
| For you my two pennies on cool
|
| For who the self dissolves
|
| Felt resolve from a photograph
|
| My father his guitar and a phonograph
|
| A scholar in a bar with a foaming stash
|
| Putting a dollar in your jar for the culture clash
|
| Holding fast to a flash made memory
|
| The past fades endlessly
|
| They ask in their veins to remember me
|
| Two vain eyes in a friendless sleep
|
| Who will remain disguised in every senseless tweet
|
| I need to find a home
|
| I’m looking for a home
|
| I’m thinking of a home
|
| I’m dreaming of a home
|
| The people need a home
|
| A man who needs a home
|
| A woman and a home
|
| Cus when the lights go off
|
| And the show has been played
|
| And you’ve got nothing but the smell of smoke to your name
|
| And a mirror that you look at
|
| Feeling the hook for every chance you took
|
| You need to look back
|
| It’s getting even harder to find friends
|
| Being without a car
|
| Believing the bartend
|
| Can see you for who you are in the end
|
| A lost rapper
|
| A Johnny Walker Black
|
| A sox ball cap
|
| A false rapture
|
| Now tell me something honest offend me
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| Just tell me that I’m artless hem me
|
| Tell me cuz I’m armless my mouth is harnessed
|
| I’m out of promise
|
| I’m harmless
|
| My honor won’t defend me
|
| The dollar who lusts pop
|
| It lends me a damaging trust
|
| The Los Angeles bus stop is empty
|
| I pass them they mask it friendly
|
| The laughing the last one standing
|
| We acting like we stand-ins
|
| Tempt me
|
| My testimony
|
| I’m the moleskin I’m told in
|
| The sentence that left me lonely
|
| With nothing but a phone in my palm
|
| I was something back home with mom
|
| I need to find a home
|
| I’m looking for a home
|
| I’m thinking of a home
|
| I’m dreaming of a home
|
| The people need a home
|
| A man who needs a home
|
| A woman and a home
|
| Cus when the lights go off
|
| And the show has been played
|
| And you’ve got nothing but the smell of smoke to your name
|
| And a mirror that you look at
|
| Feeling the hook for every chance you took
|
| You need to look back
|
| Searching for a home |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song This is Not a Home , by - Mr. J. Medeiros. Song from the album Saudade, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп