Lyrics:
Thought they wanted gold, thought they wanted shine
Thought they wanted radio, bitch make up your mind
(Yeah ho)
All this attention, I don't even know
Thought they wanted gold, thought they wanted shine
Thought they wanted radio, bitch make up your mind
(Yeah ho)
All this attention, I don't even know
ain't hard to search
Why make yourself feel superior
By devaluating someone else's truth
Her fake butt or her makeup
May cover up, but still a bad ass
fool! I mean, it's not like your going to have five
sides to an album, is it? Silly billy... Anyway, fourth side... only recorded on the album. Mmmm Hmmm!
is in my spread
My output of rhymes tells you
Not to fuck with me
My input is deadly, don't test me
I'll light your ass up like
The Fourth of July
out and make the bell ding
But you just need a mirror
So bow to your king
Bow To Your
King
Random rhymes is the only thing on my mind
Every word I pick
Or the sound of the wind? Younger was astounded, the thoughts that were inspired by Olders question excited Younger so much he couldn’t sit. He jumped up, pacing
even keep up, you chase your own tail
Catch you at the motel 6, gettin' your dick sucked by a grown male
With your toe nail up his ass like oh well, you
soul into an album, felt no one else could bite it
Dreams for dollar signs replaced by thoughts of being godly, iris
But my iris couldn't take the signs,
decent
Brush the dirt off, I'm the clean kid
Takes more than one try
Cut through walls, let the blood dry
One phone call, change your mind
I'll be gone by
equals my nigga
Better luck on that next time
I'd rather write your eulogy than freestyle
'Cause I'm Bruce Wayne with the prep time
Told me drop an album
crisis that I'm in
Don't chime in
Front block like a line men
No longer co-sign it
Album two, you'll get what that line meant
Clearing shit up just like my
ass to get to the top
But when I signed on your album flopped and you got laid off
[Hook, 2X]
Who are you to try and be true
The fact is you define
What's on your mind
And what's on my mind
Is really nothing new
I want to get you alone
I want to make you my own
Baby, I want to make love with you
the other
But everything I ask you, you're a slave to your socials
Make sure you take a picture with me bitch 'cause I'm poppin'
Post it up proper
All
behind that keyboard cuz
Gon' make some blood spill
Your insecurity gon' make this 45 open
Up your mind and bring enlightenment
And then you'll have more
a tweetstyle, we'll just make it up and go along
Defying the convention how you people write a verse
A crazy idea so we're hoping that it works
Gotta keep posting
Let it take over
Make me a character
Let me be bolder
I live in the words
Without any edits
And will not give up
Even as credits
Roll
Even as credits
his mind works in a special way
Playing folk on a Hohner harmonica, repaired with a Chinese cover plate
Talking conspiracy theory of the queer Fourth
X
Golden Boy
from Koi by Pacific Purgatory
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to do is take my time
I'ma stand up for art express, do mic test rehearsals
Eight years of man livin', ain't no edits or commercials
Flick the God
to do is take my time
I'ma stand up for art express, do mic test rehearsals
Eight years of man livin', ain't no edits or commercials
Flick the God
be surprised by your findings
Get a clue and youtube September Clues
And Judy wood Irrefutable too
The planes look like cartoons
And they played some
it?
Oh no, man
I'm cueing up the fourth album now, his final one
One, two, three, four
One, two, three, four, listen
Look into my eyes
Tell me
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