lyrics
every line is a stretch of the imagination
every scar is a souvenir of isolation
lock the door, lower blinds, I run from everybody
Find a safe place to self destruct my own body
I got twenty minutes. but I lost fifteen
I lost my ground, status. I did not work the scene.
I did not live my dream. So, tactical retreat.
drag on this blunt again and pray that I can ride the beat
Can he deliver? Can he serve? Will that bitch crack?
I see you at the show. Leaning all up in the back.
Arms folded, looking mean, why won't you dance?
'Cause I won't play that song? The one about my ass?
So I go home real quick, gotta catch the train
Sorry to all my friends. I gotta be lame.
There's a couch set aside, engraved with my name
Where I can retreat, withdraw, and play on the game
Get out my head, yeah, that's the ticket, yeah
I'm a son fallen, welp, I guess they called it
One scar, ten scars, damn, am I retarded?
What kinda black man cuts himself in this age?
And who the fuck am I to say that I'm a bad bitch?
Just draw another line with the razor, nick
that's what I named this one, because he hurt me too
I forgot that I cannot admit that shit to you
I do not trust you. I do not like you.
You never trusted me. What we gon' do?
You wanna stay and help or disrupt my ebb and flow
You wanna hold me tight or stay away 'cause I'm a ho?
Damn, I ask a lot of questions in my rhymes, right?
That's all I do when I get home after working nights
Damn, I never talk about love in my stanzas, though
But hand me that scabbard, I'll run it cross my throat
credits
from
DARKWORLD,
released January 15, 2015
© House of Creation, 2014.
Produced, Arranged, Composed, Performed and Engineered by S. Poole.
Contains a sample of "Tell You Something (Nana's Reprise)" by Alicia Keys.
Contains a sample from the film "The Craft".
license