plagued_by_arte

The words of music get confused sometimes
(I know what you think of me)
I know what you think of us
(I know what you think of me)

We used to have the house aglow
Outside of the bungalow that's prehistoric
It can be recorded
A slutty Philly's down the spinal bracket
On top of a vinyl jacket so euphoric
Your entity distorted
You'd put weed inside the apple pie
For reading by a candle light and theater groups
Something is the truth
You say you can't leave the rap alone
The reed of the saxophone stays on your tongue
You stay on one and here's the proof
My father's slum was like Beirut
Developed in the ways of life
Around and round the trade routes
Sell the microwave set to them whites
For a knowing odd get accused of a voting fraud
By that unknowing god

I've seen the best minds ever
Fight to death over kitchen scraps
Yeah you can put your roll away
There ain't no guarantee you'll ever get it back
No (I know what you think of me)
(I know what you think of me)

What the fuck is wrong with me
You know that this song is free
Nothing can belong to me
Can you get along with me I
Fuck that I'm plagued by art
I'm writing poems in a Parisian flat
For freestyling in your house where the TV's stacked

(I know what you think of me)
(I know what you think of me)