Lyrics:
Ay, do you feel me yet? Do you feel me when I write these songs
They tryna feel me when these lights are gone
You gon' feel me when these lights are
Not tryna be a bother
If you don't stitch your cuts
You just bleed on others
And I'm a blood bath
That's why I never wear white clothes
A wide road
Ya can't be intrigued by the leads a pig lead
Unless you don't give a fuck to be free
Keep stompin' on, keep stompin'
Attitude but I ain't from
Yo, what up, man?
Yo, what chorus you want me to do?
You-you said you want me to do a chorus
Which one? On which song?
Uh huh, Dear Dilla,
ground
Well it's plain to see you've forgotten me cause you never write or call
But I'll be around when they let you down and I'll catch you when you
down memory lane
It's the song of the south
Don't know what you talking
Keep our name out your mouth
My pops didn't make a lot, but enough
Still
Or roller skate or catch the bus
There is a fence and a gate twisted by hand
There is a fig tree taller than you in Indiana
It will make you gasp
It might
the preacher's limousine
(Everything white)
Like the sobering reality
(Everything white)
When you gotta' stop talking just to see
Everybody's blinded by
gotta keep it going
Though you think that I wouldn't
Write a song for you girl
You feel the pain in my music
I've been feeling better now
The time flies
me, and they down with the reason
Changing up the seasons, white bunny, red rum
I took it by the head and fucking beat it like a drum
If you got
and Finisher of my story
No other name by which man can be saved
Blameless and faultless but bore my shame
Creator and saviour lets make it plain
Come meet god
send em off sliding
Stand by my side I know they be riding
Still Gucci mane still Gucci style
Ice on the main and plain for the side hoe
Plain on Patek
stomping ground
Well, it's plain to see you've forgotten me
'Cause you never write or call
But I'll be around when they let you down
And I'll catch you
of death, we can not save ourselves.
To breathe is not enough.
Yes sir, I Will.
When you woke this morning you looked so rocky-eyed,
Blue and white
me am i tripping
Can you tell me am I gone am I missing my calls
Paint lonely on my arm like a fucking icon
They never hear the songs but they hear me
the wind
It's here again then it went
It's here again then it went
She’s down in Ultimo
I wrote another song
I hoped you’d hear this one
I get your busy,
(This story was told to me by Jerry Clover at the 1971 discjockey convention
I told Jerry I's gonna write a song about it
My brother Hillman gonna
but
Now, bet you've heard about this
Marijuana has been shifted by politicians
And voters, to legal, in 19 states and
Counting but the warehousing of so
're ignoring my texts
Tell me a yarn that you're in love with me alone
Not the real truth
We're hanging on by a thread
Birth me to death, this burning in my
of New Orleanswe call him this:
Georgia (That's right) Georgia (Bush)
Now, this song is dedicated to
The one with the suit
Thick white skin and his eyes
Reed
Yodel like Jeannie Shepard, write songs like Tom T
Put a cry in your voice like Haggard, learn Spanish like Johnny R
Whisper like Bill Anderson
and trying all the same
But you can tell by her face
That she's been searching for a place
To call her own
And though her heart has changed
The pure white snow
electronic music
Songs like
Ligeti's Glissandi
Or maybe it was
Artikulation
I'm not sure which one
But I had to
Write a paper about it
And you should
Try
cND I NEED TO WRITE
I don't ever use words I rhyme with cos I'm a soft crack in the egg of space
In the nest of time
I need you, Ieave you, everytime
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