(Intro)
I've been busy
(Verse 1)
I've been busy rebuilding swashbuckling archeologists as Antarctic grave robbers
I've been busy back peddling and back washing the gray water like I think I'm an acclaimed doctor I've been busy
With the paroxysms now melted down to coping skills
Meaning I make mountain out of mole hill
In the south where the souls thrilled
Turn a roll call to a road kill as a dope till
For my next trick, hallucinatory cloud computing without the crowd rooting
It's, non-refundable in Oakland
Non-fungible token in ovum of
Lady Liberty when crackhead denim replaces time as an infinity's metric
I'm finna be wreckless imma set the mood proper
Shift the food down or
This women's decrepitudes bothered
(Chorus)
All the things I left America to forget
Where my heart and mind didn't do
And art declined recurrent party lines
With the anchor of skin
Emotional tolerance and resilience of the young is cut paper thin
But don't weigh me in
With the flat of the blade and the butt of the gun to the gut of the son like
(Verse 2)'
Oh fuck she didn't know I type dead center maintaining them high standards
Oh God a detaching economy
Had had a full meta my menace white
Flashes in the ribs
And they burble and they cringe
At the carols for the mega shifts of self-centeredness
Sysiphusian since I can't conform within the crypt
See them niggas' plugs of remembrance
So bitter enemies are clubbing with a clever mix
Well then it was fun to think
We, the Grand Jeweler of the ex slaves overcame the truth of being hunted
By the Klu Klux through the hedge maze
Dead bodies and lost property
But a sex-crazed frontiers been another dear friend
As the techs play x-rated cinema
At the thunderous pools
I could turn blubber to fuel with indigenous whalers
Hide in a chrysalis from shiftless janitors
At least they trust my performance count
Before I'm straight Elizabeth Taylor
And it's likekened
To despise when
The elders connect
In elsewhere
And elsewhen
But i spin trellis
So our motives know I'm spittin from the sunken relics like
AY Help them...
Help them
(Chorus)
All the things I left America to forget
Where my heart and mind didn't do
And art declined recurrent party lines
With the anchor of skin
Emotional tolerance and resilience of the young is cut paper thin
But don't weigh me in
With the flat of the blade and the butt of the gun to the gut of the son like
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