A response would be undignified for the wants of the dumb pig inside. I'd have to admit what I did. Instead I'll bounce, put on a wig and hide. The gig is up like a lawn chair tied to a hot air balloon on my way to nowhere but I got there too soon. Every day I'm dazed and confused that there's a million rappers yet I'm the one that comes with the phrase that's unused. I get a hit of dopamine for every broken dream, an openly mean coping scheme. Authorial distance from corporeal existence creates stories full of misprints. What's the difference if I pick this word or that word or the word picks me or if I'm half heard or if I channel challenges or walk around in bandages? I see you as a contemporary, one temptin carefree night of guns and hemp in rare breeds. Why do I wanna cry all the time? File this rhyme under “blunder.” I'm defiled by slime. Climb to the tiptop, rip shop with the best of em, wear bright colors, fight wonder that invades my work life. I'm always off-brand, soft sand, cough into my hand and then smell it. Uh-oh, I need a Tic-Tac! Kick back like a boss in a place I don't live at.
I’m on one cuz I pull shit off like a condom and um i’m handsome. (((BELIEVE THAT))) “Girlfriend, your highlight is poppin.” I’ve got a childlike addiction to language not open for adoption. I like writing rhymes while I’m still bleary-eyed and let freshness be my cheery guide. This one nearly died when I opened my eyes. Whoever said “work hard, play hard” clearly lied. It’s a capitalist Puritan aesthetic. “Work well, play free” is much less dispeptic.
My downstairs neighbors scream 24/7 and to stop wishing them death will take many more reverends. Plus they chainsmoke giving my family cancer and if I were a better father, we’d move to Jersey which I refuse to do. It’s not unusual to serve noodle stew to my picky eater three times per day. Freedom finds a way to decline and bray like a sheep. “Ba-aa-aah humbug,” work is play.
Emergency! I got something urgent to say. Emerging media is never going away. Sea urchins spray you with saline like, “Yo what about us?” We’re like, “Sorry cow paddies are more important.” While we argue about abortion, we squander our fortune.
Memory Man you’re not the boss of me yet you forcefully demand I come across on beats, particularly this one. You’re like, “It’s butter. I’m like, “It’s kinda repetitive.” Give into your fast styles, let it live.
I got you open like to-interpretation. I’m impatient. If i just let it flow, is it what’d be called a based style? Meanwhile back at the ranch, I comb through a case file. Hmmm says here he’s been unseen ten years. Grenadine grenadiers, picks up dogs by dem ears.
When they’re not screaming they’re smoking, I’m not dreaming or joking. My building is teaming with broken people and I’m scheming on leaving the whole thing. I know it’s a longshot but maybe we could own a bomb spot if this song’s hot
OPEN MIKE EAGLE
I write an American dumb star spangled verse and ride it to London where I can walk til my ankles hurt. I never came to Earth, I stayed on a broken ship, saying lines from Catcher of the Fade to the ocean fish. I keep my poker chips on my shelf in a studio. The name’s Jeffrey but I can tell them it’s Julio. They call him Sin Cara but I can tell that it’s Hunico who makes the bass that you can feel in your backside. If I was a wrestler, I’d make people tap from a backslide. If i was a preacher I’d use tap water to baptize children, ‘cause sparkling water would cost millions. I narrowly missed a real cool meeting with Saul Williams. I saw the picture and was “damn I shoulda been there now.” I was the missing step in the consecutive hairstyles
I bear down with the pen when i feel anxious. If he was a brain surgeon his scalpel would kill patients. I feel ancient but real naive. Never gullible enough to vote for a Real ID. I’m very concerned that the police will kill my seed. Shoutout to Wu-Tang and High Chief Jamil I Reeve. I think I need some new curse words to fulfill my needs like when my new shirt breaks or if I spill my tea. Hold your breath and count backwards from a mill by three. Don’t exhale until I leave.
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Hella Personal, regardless of your experience, there are a multitude of tracks that speaks both generally and specifically to the human experience.
Writ large, it's a post-modern microcosm of being human.
Writ small, it's a vibe tmomonet