|
I know you feel it |
|
rap is wack so I'm back to spittin |
|
middle-aged man never learned to fit in |
|
I'm the one guy who can name the sickness |
|
every other artist talks ass and licorice |
|
yo, I know you feel it |
|
that gnawing, nagging, numbing, blogging, tagging, thumbing, Buzzfeed |
|
streaming, meme-ing, content coma |
|
everything is free but I'm bored as shit |
|
my malaise don't fit in the animated gif |
|
I have feelings that can't be expressed with kittens |
|
even the most freestyled now sounds written |
|
all coalesced into four loud kick drums |
|
uh uh uh - big surprise |
|
what's the new sound, y'all? |
|
Lies |
|
look me in the screen while I look you in the eyes, kid |
|
I'm the last naked voice you'll recognize |
|
I wanna get back into |
|
I wanna get back into |
|
I wanna get back into the water |
|
I wanna get back into |
|
I wanna get back into |
|
I wanna get back into the water |
|
I know you feel it |
|
that runaway science, that greater good |
|
that real thin line 'tween could and should |
|
that nature's end, that irish bull: |
|
that gods are men whose minds are full |
|
yo, I feel the heavy |
|
not prepped for when the levee breaks |
|
no more history, no mistakes |
|
your life is cake |
|
but something is wrong |
|
your artists fail |
|
to write the song |
|
that illustrates this |
|
encrypted love |
|
that we take to |
|
like swine to mud |
|
that Icarus blood |
|
that shoots you up |
|
and wears you out |
|
like fitted gloves |
|
you shackled doves |
|
you mired saints |
|
embrace the canvas |
|
erase the paint |
|
you know this road |
|
can not end well |
|
we'll burn in heaven |
|
you choirs of hell |
|
I wanna get back into |
|
I wanna get back into |
|
I wanna get back into the water |
|
[repeat ad nauseam] |
