Lyrics Chance The Rapper – The Writer

Intro:
Niggas try to come at me and shit like
On some like, I only write slow songs
And I only write…church and

Verse 1:
I’m a writer, probably as good as Elton John
But whats writing good for if it ain’t helping moms?
I’m tryna feed Japan while seeing sights of Lebanon
And wiping away tears of girls that’s getting felted on
I’m tryna get my felt pen on but the block is hot
My hands is questioning if I’m bach or not
If I’m 2Pac or nonexistent to these juggernauts
But I’m a architect an astronaut an argonaut
So hey, you, get off my couch
You don’t know me stay the fuck out my mouth
But I’m a writer you can quote it out loud
A false poet get my dough and I’m out
But here’s an eighth of shrooms for your earlobe
A little rap wrapped in cigarillo
A little bit of Wu-Tang, mixed with some Henry David Thoreau
A little ponder theory you can ponder on your pillow
But this is for the day that your dad dies
Puffin’ some reason all you hearing is sad sighs
You searchin’ for nostalgia but sad and you can’t cry
So you check your iPod in search for some bad vibes
From that rap guy, who raps over sad vibes
I wrote it in an hour dawg, don’t know what your dads like
He probably was a great dad, he’s probably in paradise
You want deeply in heartbreak and sadly I can’t write, nothing