Da Art of Story Making-Up
Look, lemme tell you how my morning started
I was searching for my morning joe
But like something more exotic
Gimme a tiger in the tank
I mean my S-O got gassed up
But my ex was on some Bullshit, you know, mo bills
Mo impractical it gets to keep on curving niggas every time they start to act up
Aye man, I ain't gon' never get them 30 seconds back bruh
So lately, they get left on Maroon 5
I move like Jagger
Nah, you ain't gon' get no satisfaction
I mean, I'm a rolling stone, though
So I kept it rolling after breakfast, what you expect
It was right in the writing
And I could've inspired Rodin when I wrote it
Was a thinker, thought I'd start with sinking a string of just, you know, the simple
But the simple seemed extinguished
A sting of writers block akin to the weight of whips and jingles
Having a stinker, testy and tried, tried out and tested
And tinkered so many dimensions you think
That the pen was tessering and the thing was at the time
My brow couldn't furrow for a wrinkle
Thorough looking for 'It', the missing whatsit, or link
Or what have you just a subtle a wink of magic
The shit just hadn't cut it
Humming to myself knowing when she start to hum too the shit'll be a dinger
But all I heard... Okay shit
That's just telling me this shit was nothing distinguished
So I headed out like maybe some invigorating exercise can help me with the inking
Ended up at the park looking dumb, entranced, and just singing to myself
Doing Little dances as white moms passing thinking
"Goodamn he needs some help"
Asking "hey you are okay?"
Cuz I looked so damn agitated and antsy
I'm entertaining my fancies out to the fullest extent
You see me prancing and pulling
But in my minds eye prolly out accepting a Pulitzer
Passionate, pulling the masses, bullish packing arenas
Aretha get my respect
Demand the franklins subpoena'd
I lay the law with the cadence
Pull the mic like a rabbit out a top hat
Damnit, stop that
SnapBack to reality
Lost myself in the patterns and making the musicality
That ma'am looking at me like I got a goddamn malady
Staring me back in the face
That this shit supposed to be sick not a sickness
Sophistic, to let it slip without a lil' fun in this shit
I was searching for my morning joe
But like something more exotic
Gimme a tiger in the tank
I mean my S-O got gassed up
But my ex was on some Bullshit, you know, mo bills
Mo impractical it gets to keep on curving niggas every time they start to act up
Aye man, I ain't gon' never get them 30 seconds back bruh
So lately, they get left on Maroon 5
I move like Jagger
Nah, you ain't gon' get no satisfaction
I mean, I'm a rolling stone, though
So I kept it rolling after breakfast, what you expect
It was right in the writing
And I could've inspired Rodin when I wrote it
Was a thinker, thought I'd start with sinking a string of just, you know, the simple
But the simple seemed extinguished
A sting of writers block akin to the weight of whips and jingles
Having a stinker, testy and tried, tried out and tested
And tinkered so many dimensions you think
That the pen was tessering and the thing was at the time
My brow couldn't furrow for a wrinkle
Thorough looking for 'It', the missing whatsit, or link
Or what have you just a subtle a wink of magic
The shit just hadn't cut it
Humming to myself knowing when she start to hum too the shit'll be a dinger
But all I heard... Okay shit
That's just telling me this shit was nothing distinguished
So I headed out like maybe some invigorating exercise can help me with the inking
Ended up at the park looking dumb, entranced, and just singing to myself
Doing Little dances as white moms passing thinking
"Goodamn he needs some help"
Asking "hey you are okay?"
Cuz I looked so damn agitated and antsy
I'm entertaining my fancies out to the fullest extent
You see me prancing and pulling
But in my minds eye prolly out accepting a Pulitzer
Passionate, pulling the masses, bullish packing arenas
Aretha get my respect
Demand the franklins subpoena'd
I lay the law with the cadence
Pull the mic like a rabbit out a top hat
Damnit, stop that
SnapBack to reality
Lost myself in the patterns and making the musicality
That ma'am looking at me like I got a goddamn malady
Staring me back in the face
That this shit supposed to be sick not a sickness
Sophistic, to let it slip without a lil' fun in this shit
Credits
Writer(s): Kj Mills
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
© 2024 All rights reserved. Rockol.com S.r.l. Website image policy
Rockol
- Rockol only uses images and photos made available for promotional purposes (“for press use”) by record companies, artist managements and p.r. agencies.
- Said images are used to exert a right to report and a finality of the criticism, in a degraded mode compliant to copyright laws, and exclusively inclosed in our own informative content.
- Only non-exclusive images addressed to newspaper use and, in general, copyright-free are accepted.
- Live photos are published when licensed by photographers whose copyright is quoted.
- Rockol is available to pay the right holder a fair fee should a published image’s author be unknown at the time of publishing.
Feedback
Please immediately report the presence of images possibly not compliant with the above cases so as to quickly verify an improper use: where confirmed, we would immediately proceed to their removal.