Beggar's Cup
My luck
Lay in the road
Copper side up
Copper side down it shone
I
I passed it by
I turned around
I picked it up
I shook my beggar's cup
I shook my beggar's cup
Well time
Takes in its hand
What's handed to it
Warm bread a stone or sand
Shaped
For what it holds
For what it makes
Fingers touch presence's place
Oh my pride
Lay in the seams
Slipped through the cracks
Of its Milwaukee jeans
Between air and ground
Copper side spinnin'
My eyes are stuck
On picking up my luck
Oh Ohhh Oh Ohhh
Oh Oh Oh
I shook my beggar's cup
Oh Ohhh Oh Ohhh
Oh Oh Oh
Why my legs fallin asleep
My heads underneath
Countin up sheep
Enumerate leaps
I spit fat beats
Smoke fatter blunts
At your uncle and aunts
Get her comfy more than once
While I sit back and enunciate
Am I dreamin or just relatin
My trains stuck in a station
And I'm prayin that this aimlessness is belaborin wits
Insane consciousness
We're all awaitin'
Traipsing the intellect
Of certain sects
Cicadas nests
Arcane intestines
Filled with pests
At whose behest
The governments
We so detest
Sick fuckin pricks
Slick but a runt
Remember your aunt
She was a metaphor for the hunt
Of civil citizens
On a pension
Worth benzes, forensics
Who have dreams, swivel chips
Drizzle clips
Sell narcotics
To realize them
I should just rap on the flow
Go slow
Do more blow
I don't know
How shit go
Profits grow
The rich glow
The poor blow
Their last note at the sto
Yo I'm spittin fire
Torchin the liars
Requiring dire
Admonishment by a choir
Call me sire
I am the king
Not of bling
But of things
Happening
In the wings
Lifting up on a breath
Move the family west
Hit the coast
Roast the ghosts
They're the prose
Most verbose
But their words don't mean shit
When your shoes show your toes
Or your bruised or your froze
It's the streets that's talking
The one on which you're walking
And squawking away
A dog has it's day
Circadian favors
The night has its flavors
Piss in elevators
Rich and elevated
Situations changin
Mitchell might have made it
Itchin on the pavement
Figment of a gangsta
In a department store
His life is bore
Cartin floorboards
Where can he go
Corridors of labor
Corrupt doors of gay whores
Michael koors and Trayvon
Will the man say hey son
You're one of mine
Health benefits
Wealth deficits
All held in cribs
Of power
Shall be returned to
The founder
And flower
I shook my beggar's cup
I shook my beggar's cup
Lay in the road
Copper side up
Copper side down it shone
I
I passed it by
I turned around
I picked it up
I shook my beggar's cup
I shook my beggar's cup
Well time
Takes in its hand
What's handed to it
Warm bread a stone or sand
Shaped
For what it holds
For what it makes
Fingers touch presence's place
Oh my pride
Lay in the seams
Slipped through the cracks
Of its Milwaukee jeans
Between air and ground
Copper side spinnin'
My eyes are stuck
On picking up my luck
Oh Ohhh Oh Ohhh
Oh Oh Oh
I shook my beggar's cup
Oh Ohhh Oh Ohhh
Oh Oh Oh
Why my legs fallin asleep
My heads underneath
Countin up sheep
Enumerate leaps
I spit fat beats
Smoke fatter blunts
At your uncle and aunts
Get her comfy more than once
While I sit back and enunciate
Am I dreamin or just relatin
My trains stuck in a station
And I'm prayin that this aimlessness is belaborin wits
Insane consciousness
We're all awaitin'
Traipsing the intellect
Of certain sects
Cicadas nests
Arcane intestines
Filled with pests
At whose behest
The governments
We so detest
Sick fuckin pricks
Slick but a runt
Remember your aunt
She was a metaphor for the hunt
Of civil citizens
On a pension
Worth benzes, forensics
Who have dreams, swivel chips
Drizzle clips
Sell narcotics
To realize them
I should just rap on the flow
Go slow
Do more blow
I don't know
How shit go
Profits grow
The rich glow
The poor blow
Their last note at the sto
Yo I'm spittin fire
Torchin the liars
Requiring dire
Admonishment by a choir
Call me sire
I am the king
Not of bling
But of things
Happening
In the wings
Lifting up on a breath
Move the family west
Hit the coast
Roast the ghosts
They're the prose
Most verbose
But their words don't mean shit
When your shoes show your toes
Or your bruised or your froze
It's the streets that's talking
The one on which you're walking
And squawking away
A dog has it's day
Circadian favors
The night has its flavors
Piss in elevators
Rich and elevated
Situations changin
Mitchell might have made it
Itchin on the pavement
Figment of a gangsta
In a department store
His life is bore
Cartin floorboards
Where can he go
Corridors of labor
Corrupt doors of gay whores
Michael koors and Trayvon
Will the man say hey son
You're one of mine
Health benefits
Wealth deficits
All held in cribs
Of power
Shall be returned to
The founder
And flower
I shook my beggar's cup
I shook my beggar's cup
Credits
Writer(s): Jane Hirshfield
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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