Lyrics Burner Account - Open Mike Eagle, Armand Hammer

Burner Account

One, two
I’m half ghost, half baby
The fat lady sang, it was bars I ghost-wrote
Tryna make my way to Mars so I can sell dope guilt free
Project buildings built me
And I done felt everything except free
It’s too much trauma, it’s not a rom-com
Countin' the dust bunnies on the end of the pom poms
Big Mom’s oxtails, get down Roswell
Swans get carpet bombed with blonde bombshells
I used to hate Los Angeles
I’m scared of police, it’s part of a weight loss regimen
And I’m spared from false radio hellos
Makin' sure the bass slaps, Ndegeocello
In my hood, watch for enemy headbands
Sick folks cop glittery bedpans
Hand in my nose like I’m literally Redman
You do the homework
My corner’s so flamed up, my Bluetooth don’t work
Got caught trying to pay for a YouTube growth spurt
That’s illegal
Holder of the latch key, fool, I wrote the jingle
Call her, get a bonus, make it a maxi single
I talk big shit, but not quite bilingual
Tell my grandkids the regular flu was hot
Dude’s hid in a computer, duckin' a booster shot
You saw it too, but you forgot
Submersible with the woofer jumpin'
If it’s pressure, that’s where the cooking come in
Couple onions, somethin' pungent
Crystals like Fun Dip
Just a big kid stunnin'
Toxic, bite me, put a hole in your stomach
Feed your dogs chocolate
Blunted at 30k, might rush the cockpit
Out of body movin' out of order, not out of line
Altering time, not integrity
New living memory
No other space but now, wow
They just move me
Call it on down
I asked her, what’s your Funkentelechy
We hold this myth to be a comfort in the crosshair
The information vacant, I’m assuming warfare
Staring at the score, I just wanna light the board up
The fourth, don’t get caught up
In the studio, talkin' crazy for a check
Stephen A. Smith, brother said he gotta get it while it’s there to get
He wasn’t there when they was shootin' in the Jects, I bet
But every project sound like he rushin' to the next
He the type to bag it up wet
Fuck up the package and blame the connect
Yo, yo
Eighth like brick
Earth audible black
Pump fakes in haste
We waste not for wacks
Strange time to snoop
Hands high, relax
Increase the dose, paradise the patch
Mint for the vax, almost dragged it to my garden
Ain’t bring me none, I beg your pardon
How many gods do I remind you of?
Debate amongst yourselves
Yourselves, yourselves
Yourselves, yourselves
Yourselves, yourselves
Yourselves, yourselves