[Intro: The Thought]
It ain’t BLAQKNOIZ no more…
It ain’t BLAQKNOIZ no more…
It ain’t BLAQKNOIZ no more…
Yeah…
[Verse: The Thought]
I’m the boxcar stockbroker, never following trends in the market
Y’all marching with Mrs. October
However sober the operator of the cloaking mechanism gotta stay
I got a toaster for emotions
Yeah, it’s loaded with explosives as a form of motivation
Broken codes among the bros you never knew had such frustrations
The latest blue balls for screwballs is talent in a vacuum
Y’all gotta master respiration
I’m not tryna be impatient, but your lungs have got an upper limit
See that you’rе a laymen, so your gun is on the cupboard, innit?
Tupperwarе image is the privilege in Buckingham Palace
Me and Bada$$ chasing rabbits with Alice
I’ll hit a MAP with a mallet, stab ‘em twice with a talon
Heisted off a bald eagle, got the whites speaking Latin
Y’all wanna fight with the Captain while the Chaplain fattens up
I need some ice for my cup and Grey Poupon for my salmon
Got dragged along for the famine by the long-in-the-cannon
Those enthralled by the Bannon and embalming Andrew Jackson
I don’t like the look of all the worst persons in amber
End the worship of managers if the Earth ever mattered
You got this far, and I’m flattered, I hope you stay for what’s after me
Found a man in tattered rags, named him “Your Majesty”
I don’t need to postulate about “the grind” out of vanity
Please excuse my profanity: “fuck you mentality!”
How many men shallow seas without a sign of life?
Y’all cutting ten calories tryna lose your inner strife
My mother ain’t no Mallory, but I been lied to plenty
I don’t like too many, keep my back away from knives
Who supplies what you demand from the music that you Stan?
Do you feel provided for? Or bored with all the brands?
Why not try to pry deeper so your mind might expand?
I don’t like to cry either but it makes me a better man!
Why not try to pry deeper so your mind might expand?
I don’t like to cry either but it makes me a better man!
[Verse: Jrobthelaw]
Homie got more Pro Tools for reproduction than the head abortionist
For the metamorphosis, heaven is scorned from this
Life is hanging by a delicate thread, like a porcelain ornament
Life is precious and they’d rather us forfeit it
And say that we’d be better for it, they want death to the less fortunate
I say, “death to what’s corporate”
The spread of wealth is disproportionate, mental health seems like
It’s unimportant, this is a war against the consortium
Twisting our morals like a contortionist, they torment us like
It’s a tournament, torn with scorched Earth, form of torching us
Portioned in a dish, of a sorcerer’s wish
Send you to court and give you a life you can’t afford to live
Wish I lived a life that was short of sin, but there’s more within
Than just living for the bliss, don’t wanna be a bore with this
But I’m born again, sometimes it feel like a chore to give
I don’t wanna be extorted by more of my friends
I could go on about this for more than four minutes
But I’ll put it in short-form and record it, and go door to door with a mix
Like I’m a Mormon that spits, real shit is foreign to them
I pour everything that I am for into this
And still get ignored by your top four list
You’re just another cord in the mix-board to rip
They be the type to forget what they’re for
But don’t be the type to forget that you are under another’s mentorship
