Antitune - Draft 01 lyrics

I'll frog splash into a tall gla** of cabernet See five stars and fall flat as the opposite of heavy-weight And relegate the steps I missed to counterbalance gravity With more immediate regret for trying hard to drown in it Sounds as if my pigeon-toed predispose Is a product of being told I'm a prodigal son But not believing it much Bleeding from fisticuff confrontation with concrete Calmly cursing the name of God that I still oddly subscribe to Go figure With the excess of seven C-sections To remove a premature child From the womb Too soon I stitch these notebooks and manic scratchings as proof That I think, therefore your Cartesian suppositions of my ‘am' Aren't really that definitive If this were a house of distorted mirrors, I'd look like DeNiro Fostering egotistical moments of validation, but f** it You looking at me, directing this mental traffic and asking ‘Why this Gil Scott wannabe wanna be rapping?' Well it's as simple as Coca-Cola's revenue generating pie charts Generally beneficial with a tight arc like a good jump shot And barring any a**umption made about the fact that I spit paint thinner I do fundamentally want to change the way this game is played That haterade must taste like piss You must be angry at your father for leaving when you were six And on my six is the backstage with a bag of doobie snacks Cause it took time to get to the bottom of this mystery Why do people expect me to use the term swag excessively? How does Kelly Ripa manage to stay on daytime television? Would I be relevant trying to evoke the spirit of Emory Douglas? Should I be offended that half of you stop listening when I close the rhyme scheme? Let's keep it rhetorical, the Oracle warned me that you mortals Would chortle at my cordial invitation to stop and smell the rose And if this prose is so ineffable as efforts would lead me to believe Then why my decibel levels taste so delectable on your palate? This challenge is for anyone who still owns a palm pilot, dubs mixtapes on TDK ca**ettes Or watches Nick-at-Nite, if you think I'm kicking it old school on some 3:16 sh** Grab whatever beer you're drinking, raise it up, and give me a ‘Hell Yeah', hell yeah This isn't party time music, I didn't ask you to dance, don't pop that molly I'll ruin your high and laugh at your misery And after all this disharmonious wordplay over Antitune's I'm positive some of you will still be trying to label us I'm a f**ing curmudgeon, sorry, my soul is the oldest of all my brothers By blood and through spirit, spearing these other s**as We ushering eras where clout and cowardice disavow how about it you claim to be I was born for this sh**