Jonwayne - Smoke lyrics

It's the basement dwelling virgin on the verge of murking those Who try to rearrange my station, so be staying on your toes For a swift kiss of d**h, I section out the mic With the scepter in my sight from the microphone stand It's all part of commanding the plan Rearranging the pages and making a name for yourself In the age of information we're naked and aimless Abel and Cain, yet we're strangers See a brother make it and hate 'em Well I'm taking off everything I earn yet you yearn With the yeast in your chest, deceased With the breath I'm blessed Vocal cords so the mic don't stress I take a load off the shoulders of the 1-2 check I'm positive, with sk** and the will to consider I'm rocking gigs from LA to LA But get me on a telegram and I'll knock a city in the next day I think for - ah sh** I think forward like a mortician The more victims I get the more my sickness is a business Cause I'm a victim of my words, I feel your hurt I feel your pain when you get slain by my intoxicated brain I'm speaking from a chamber of being Where they pray that my last ounce of sanity remains They branded me depraved These verses run hearses through my veins Leaving splinters in the chamber of age This ain't a big move man, I rap in fidgets Any more than that is nothing short of sort of cataclysmic I'm the mystic, mister lifted and gifted I'm sifting my path graphic you know I'm flipping my digits Getting with it, granted I knew my scripture was written Like pictures of kids looking in twenty years when they miss it The bunny ears are encrypted in prime alliance Feeling my vital signs, making sure our talent was still alive You feel the vibe, I'm trying to press it You still decide that the majority is morphing into a k**er tribe Still you be chill, ridden to find a iller guy Crime and violent heights while he's talking down at a bitter sky My God's fried, Twitter that to your inner eye Went from crying sinning to twenty year old Gemini You see the birds stay home, I make the winter fly South for the summers and LA has gotta recognize Los Angeles is hotter than the surface Of the ba*tard a** son leaving home for the campus Busting rhythms that make you rupture your pancreas Your man must enlighten those who writing the bad juxtapose Close your eyes cause you'll be biting the damn dust