| Tell me
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| What is it that you find in the tiny wardrobes of your existence?
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| Is it a silk robe sewn with time?
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| Or Dusty laces?
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| Faces covered in the pride of coal mines
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| Otherwise soon to becomes traces of the resistance?
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| Me, I pay no mind to bow ties tied round the necks of alcoholics
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| No cash money in their leather wallets
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| Pull yourself up by your own Rolex
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| I’m sorry I can’t help you
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| I would if I could
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| But I barely know how to dress myself
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| And I don’t dress up for death chants
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| So I show up to OCI wearing a pair of sweat pants
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| No internal time urgency
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| I leave the public interest behind me
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| Personally, I am interested in making 180 or maybe 190
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| Fuck it, why not 225?
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| I’ve benefited from privilege, now I’m at the top of the economy
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| Though I’ve spoken to those below me back at the colonies
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| I work within that dichotomy whereas
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| You disappear inside theory and can only regurgitate your favorite European
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| philosophy
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| My autobiography will be in at least three languages
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| I am an Arabic grammar champion. |
| I get paid to make sandwiches
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| I’m slinging syntax back with the emcees next to me
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| Complexity doesn’t bother me
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| But I barely know how to dress myself
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| I make a pretty good refrigerator poetry nonsense
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| And I can think in abstract concepts
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| I’m undefeated in Mortal Kombat
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| 24/7 contact customer service expert
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| Just seeking to apply myself
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| I split infinitives wherever I please
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| And I make up adjectives
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| It’s a hyper-complexative hobby of mine, but I find it inadequate
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| To effectively demonstrate my skill
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| Cos at the end of the day I still
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| I still barely know how to dress myself
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| I thank god that at the very least I know how to pray for myself
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| 1−800 numbers still stuffed into my pockets
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| I take a picture and I crop it
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| Passed away loved ones in my little locket attached to that necklace
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| I’m a limited-edition Nexus 6 prototype the way I’ve been instructed to wreck
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| this shit
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| You’re intoxicated at breakfast
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| You drive away in a Lexus
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| Your sideview might be exactly what my U-lock might mess with
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| Motherfucker, I barely know how to dress myself
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| My cognitive capacity at an all-time high
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| Whereas every last neuron of yours has gone awry
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| Your creeks have all run dry. |
| I’m swimming in the ocean
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| Not a modicum of regret in my body, except that the water is frozen
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| And I swallowed the wrong dosage
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| Way past metamorphosis. |
| No performances
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| Not even an attempt at any resemblance of choruses
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| My hearing is fine
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| My vision, like an NSA satellite in orbit
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| I am still 64-bit
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| I just barely know how to dress myself
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| And in international airports, I observe convention
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| And the jet lag does not affect me
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| Because I make it a point to not malfunction
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| Though I barely know how to dress myself |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song I Barely Know How to Dress Myself, artist - Swordplay. Album song Paperwork, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп