Smithereens

El-P

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    (feat. Hangar 18)

    Fell asleep late, neon buzz
    PTS stress, we do drugs
    City air strange, sticky lungs
    Mayor Doomburg gives no funds
    And I'm crying
    Call out with a fiendish ring
    Broken into smithereens
    Everything's exactly how it seems
    And it would seem that I am crying

    In a world super duper whores the kids just want a little more
    Little tycos do the bloody mind sex with a veteran's decor
    And I'm crying
    So when I step in the stop frame I became pure BK
    'Cause I grew up on the krazy kings and inhaled second hand spray
    And I'm crying
    Where the walls talk your defiances and alliances were made
    With a fugitive dash after class to harass the gods of fame
    And I'm crying
    And the goons that I collude with on this rude shit same way
    And will break a crab down in public just to manipulate their pain
    And I'm crying

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    Why should I be sober when god is so clearly dusted out his mind?
    With cherubs puffing a bundle tryna remember why he even tried
    Down here it's 30% every year to fund the world's end
    But I'm broke on atlantic ave tryna cop the bootleg instead
    Pure savage established hard rock talk circa '93 proof
    Walked the high road to infinity with simily truant moves
    When the wandering ration line derails, I steal food
    Maybe tread where the sidewalk hawks look alive and hide tools
    On a bed that someone else made
    Tryna wait for the next boot
    And it drops when you took prime-time hellemundo off mute
    Old folks say "time to build"
    But demolition pays more loot
    Rip patch from your hazmat suit
    Slip past with an odd bop (woop!)
    El-Producto, sorta strange
    They say he stares at you, long range
    Perhaps he's looking past us all with his thousand yard gaze
    And I'm crying
    And he sees how MC's became contorted with their own lives
    And went from battle rap to gun talk
    Like we ain't notice the change (yeah, right)

    It's the city I broke down in
    The velour couture township
    Where they lost the rock box batteries and forgot how shit was founded
    And I'm crying
    Critics all see me twisted
    They don't get my whole existence
    An actual b-boy brainiac who'll slap you out your mittens
    And I'm crying

    Now, I feel that motherfuckers owe me dap for contributing actual raps
    That's not a construct for the radio on that plasticince path
    I'll be your homie
    Bust through the dolby lonely
    All cast aside and homely
    Wildly pour chrome eat of vigilante words
    Insert hurt in a dome-piece
    And the last of all I have is yours, now surrendered nice and calmly
    As a tot played on a block of bricks and double dutched with the zombies
    I'll rip your squad in nothing but a cock ring a pair of puerto-rock dunks
    I built the bag that cats will drown in when the water's colored rust
    And the last thought that I had in the back of the little bus
    Was of a Oklahoma city flair through kiddy flesh, fade to dust
    Move me with, little soldier bitty
    We'll cloak and dagger the city
    We'll hope to stagger magnificence till the pattern of blasphemy's quitting
    And I keep my meaning tucked deep so y'all creepers give me some privacy
    Don't ask for something literal from a child of secrety society
    There's a position to be filled, you fucking assholes
    Keep your eye on me
    But save your precious advice
    'Cause all my life everyone's lied to me
    And I'm crying

    Fell asleep late, neon buzz
    PTS stress, we do drugs
    City air strange, sticky lungs
    Mayor Doomburg gives no funds
    And I'm crying
    Call out with a fiendish ring
    Broken into smithereens
    Everything's exactly how it seems
    And it would seem that I am crying

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    Composición: El-P

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