soapy suds (sat)

from damn mixtape by oaky

/

lyrics

it started off shaky,
for the angsty song bird spitting long words
for the sick & resting coroner
a human being not a foreigner,
I wish I could astonish her,
with honest verbs that don't make her feel fleshy,
it doesn't have to be messy if she doesn't accept me,
choices are choices and fuck faking ectasy,
everyone knows I'm next to be, king,
and everyone knows
I'm next to be,
a modern day slave,
pave the way to the man made grave

I'm out and down guzzling like a booze hound,
mumbling about the true sound,
this is what the youth found, it's,
more depression, less progression, more unnecessary stressing,
the television listens to our confessions,
blessings to any who feel the essence,
peasants unite to destroy unpleasant presence,
its always written under the glow of the heavens crescent,
it's runs like water after the seventh session,
and I ain't guessing,
you could say I'm knowing,
but you wouldn't make any sense,
would it?

trying my best to remain intentional,
not using my testicles as wrecking balls,
and it can't just be eventual,
that the festival always ends up less dimensional,

it's doesn't have to be messy if she doesn't accept me, choices are choices and fuck faking ectasy, everyone knows I'm next to be, king, I'm next to be, a modern day slave, pave the way to the man made grave

wet monkey bars and slippery slides,
that’s the best time to hide inside
disregarded red eyed lab rat,
now other rodents dip and dive up in ya ass crack,
oh that's a tad crass, I'm been a bad spas,
don't expect me to spit w/ any pazaz,
my sneakers wore thin with the speakers plugged in,
I feel drugged again, something comforting,
never claimed to be a rap aficionado,
if anything I'm a fish among sharks bro,
drowning in unreleased discography,
but doubt sits in on my recordings w/ zero apologies,
no eye contact till we deceased misogyny,
time to recognise the pharaoh's dishonesty,
how about we dethrone,
or just listen to me moan,
I get anxious replying to online messages,
no comfort in my existence unlike ya local Methodist,
dissect things down to the nitty gritty,
so deflated trying claim it as creativity,
just another bug going kaplat on the windscreen,
another rapper falling flat under category indie,
dancing sorta gawky in front of the webcam,
trying to impress a shawty with a joke so dead pan,
pondered a great escape to a heavenly estate,
really buying into fate as smoking pot thinking I could levitate,
but I've still never picked you flowers,
daytime snooze wishing I had jujitsu powers,
like those dudes who seemly have all the moves,
they never cruise to marinate in their blues,
it's all throat chop this, spinning heel kick that,
as if they don't need inspiration, from real sick raps,

beer in the shower, in there for an hour,
repair my soul power, with a beer in the shower.

credits

from damn mixtape, released November 30, 2017

license

all rights reserved

tags

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