(Prod. by rodfujiwara)
Get up from the bed. Ten in the morning, over 10.
Goin’ through the motions. Atmospheric emotions.
Prepare and operate. I feel like I wanna evaporate.
Raise my awesomeness until I go form a new form today.
Took me two years to actually motivate myself.
Thinkin’ existential crisis, should’ve been enlightened,
Lookin’ up to rappers. Amazing filmmakers.
Never tired. Never wept. I knew I needed help.
My girl tell me I should smile more.
Quite impossible. Trickling down the waterfall.
Reason or three. Conflict cannot foresee.
Fucking confrontation is the only thing that set us free.
I’m finally off the fucking chronic.
I’m just kidding. I feel that would be ironic.
Always chasin’ after my shadow.
To the point I say hello. Wouldn’t even know.
Perpetually waiting for the time I reach my grand finale.
Hope that I’d be happy ‘fore I even marry.
Missionary position’s always being fucking mentioned.
Depend on every aforementioned method.
I’m just pretending to be okay.
Obey and overstay. Everyday’s a cliche.
Sit in the alleyway; the dark recesses of my mind.
And then I ask myself “why?”
Do you even ask yourself why,
or you’re just pretending to be okay?
…or you’re just pretending to be okay?
Walk away till you’re a breakaway.
I always ask myself why.
Similarities. Hello before they say goodbye.
And then I ask myself why. lie. why. cry. why. try.
Raise your motherfuckin’ cupcake in the air.
Wave them back and forth, side to side, heat the apple pie.
Take a break from overthinking as to why you’re here,
or as to why you do these things, or as to how you really feel.
Raise your red velvet cupcake,
and then you share it with you brother, mane.
Raise your red velvet cupcake,
and then you share it with yourself, mane.
Everyday, me and Mary Jane
kick it in the backseat. Chillin’ with my fave tee.
Everybody tryna tell me that I ain’t shit.
Thinkin’ I’m just another wack bitch about to make a hit.
Tell you what, mane. I know that I ain’t sane.
But I ain’t sayin’ that to prove you’re right; now that’s insane.
I feel like I don’t fucking play a part in the grand scheme of things.
Locked inside my mind. I’m happy with my own kind.
It’s funny ain’t it? White, asian, lanky kid.
Capable, microwavable, unassailable, unshakeable.
I fucking make the crowd shout while you watch me from your couch.
I help the people understand why we should avoid the avalanche.
Beat it down… and switch it up. Kick it’s six senses.
Comprehensive; I admit I’m counteroffensive.
Been livin’ a hundred years or more, and every single day
is a muthafuckin’ chance for me to locate myself and realize my depths.
Lions don’t sleep. Kingin’, chillin’ in a suite.
Never ending journey. Fell in love with controversy.
Everything is backwards. Haters fail to realize they’re hated.
Get the picture? Activate. I’m the awaited.
I’d rather be reanimated.
I feel like it’d be nice to galvanize.
I’d rather live a hundred years of sadness,
than to live a life where I don’t feel like I’m alive.
What does it really take, for a man to change?
Without having to take a life or even take advice.
Barely writing tunes. Always feel the blues.
I’m on the last page. Refuse the last bottle of booze.
Ain’t a regular kid. Stimulate her later.
Eliminator of simulators and intimidators.
Run around until we get lost.
Another night of being overwrought.
Took me months to wake my motherfucking self up.
Find another line that doesn’t rhyme with angel dust.
Tell yourself that you ain’t ready ‘coz you’ve been ready.
Force yourself to run while everybody’s still stationary.
Sharp enough to sound edgy and to be defined.
Lost inside my mind. Why do I even try?
A hundred bells ring continuously in the head.
Control is what you need to soften them while on the bed.
And here I go again with pickin’ the pen on day ten.
Mental conmen arrested by policemen.
Writing endlessly, I’m rolling with the avalanche.
Rise again, stop. The top is where I’m allowed to stand.
Turn the system up, and twist it out.
Palm the whole world, change, man. Without a doubt.
Magneto shit. I’m on that next-level telekinesis.
Stickin’ back to roots. Create my masterpieces.
Create your sentimental masterpieces,
hopefully they’re as complex as polyhedrons.
Hopefully we have omelettes and awesome peaches.
Hopefully I get speechless once I hear your speeches.
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