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Swing Rap or whateveridecidetocallthiswhenithinkofabettername

by Without Eve

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lyrics

They say my hubris is humorous, but I don’t know
I ain’t too proud to beg, but I’m too proud to take a joke
I think my problem is I’m looking for my locus
But maps are hard to read and I can’t even focus
I’m taking a trip down streets I’ve never seen; I ‘m no cartographer
It’s getting harder, though, to act like I’ve been here before
My knees are sore, my needs are more, but I’m just finding out that no one’s keeping score

Think I’ll just join a cult and wander in the wilderness
Seems preferential to the voyeuristic void I’m in
Self-referential to a fault, I miss the noise again
I keep it loud to drown out all the voices telling me to sin

It’s better than sitting in prison and sticking skin to all my lovely bones
I’d miss the sounds of gunshots and sirens the most, though
It’s dope yo, to smoke, so they told me, the joke’s on you
If you’re not feeling lonely, I’m broke, see

But the Huffington Post is telling me it’s not about the money
It’s making sure you know that being liberal makes you cunning
Honey, something’s got to give if progress is what you’re hunting
But don’t tell PETA that meat can be yummy
Wordsmith like herds sit, I mean that I’m lazy
But milk me for all that it’s worth, it’s amazing
Look at the guy, homogenized and modernized, his wandering eyes are empty
But maybe that’s just how the good Lord made me

I’m attacking the mic like King Kong, but I can’t even write a song
I say my life is perfect, but I’m bluffing like Kim Jong
I screaming out my heart but all I’m saying is “Is this thing on?”
No, I’m not lonely I’m just desperately in need of friends
I’m making eyes at girls on subways saying “til we meet again.”
I guess I’ll be riding underground until the whole world ends

Freestyle like Manhattan dumpsters
Tea time like Mad Hatters rich in a gun store
Lump sums cause sucking on thumbs makes your tongue sore
This fun’s for the ones with the money for young whores

I’m bored and you’re not, I guess that the problem is just that you got what I want
I mean to say it’s kind of lame and mean to say that money's made to throwaway
But everyday’s a mayday til payday, my heyday is the one day a week I’m not starving
See, your car seats more than my apartment and these bar fees are weighing on my wallet

And this tip jar is paying for college. I guess what I’m saying is knowledge ain’t cheap
But neither is paying to stay off the streets. Whatever. I don’t need to eat this week.

credits


Beat by LOKKE MUSIC

www.facebook.com/LokkeMusic

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