Lyrics Open Mike Eagle – Raps For When It’s Just You & The Abyss
Text:
Yeah, I’m in a room 30 mile south of Malibu
Pacing around, tryna make something powerful, yeah
I sit awake, baked on the shower stool
The cookie faced king had to surgically get his crown removed
My only worry is the frequency my vocals is on
And my lady gets her hair cuts at the local salon
And doesn’t have to hide from ISIS and Boko Haram
Dang, I feel a strange kinship to every man
Heavy hand, tremble my memories, need a steady cam
My mind’s made clothes, and videos that R. Kelly had
Barely had time to think, the world moves very fast
And life is a mystery school, I’m on the airplane learning social delivery cues
Fool, I can drink a whole infinity pool
And make impassioned bar speeches from a rickety stool yeah
Trying to make shit that sounds Grand Budapest
With the same hand that slams his computer desk
And every day I’m bumping Cinnamon Girl
Tryna promote these rap shows when it’s the end of the motherfucking world
You used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that
You used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that
You used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that
And now you’re all gone, got your makeup on
And you’re not coming back
I’ve seen a lot of shit disappear and reappear
I’m 34 on Earth but measure me in Venus years
I’m so right-brained I can’t grow an even beard
I wonder if I balance shit out, would things seem as weird
They say it is above as it is below
My skin is so hot but my heart beat is 10 below
I answer only questions it’s easiest to pretend to know
It’s hard being brick and mortar creatures
My thoughts have to fit in phones and through computer speakers
I was pretty geeked about my LA weekly feature
I showed it to my dad, my barber and my piano teacher
I’m tryna get discovered like a nectar bat
The cookie-face can and can’t remember where his scepter’s at
Eyes mad low, grin wide, just like a cheshire cat
Got four dimensional skin my chin is a tesseract
I’m tryna tour for 3 weeks in a mobile home
This Chopped basket’s milk, a peach, and some provolone
Talk to myself loud and speak in a boastful tone
My inner monologue is Com’s speech from the Golden Globes
Some folks leave rap and never look back
If you tried it yourself, you would have understood that
Make films, play ball right or even cook crack
My famous homies picked the right shit to get good at, yeah
You used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that
You used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that
You used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that
And now you’re all gone, got your makeup on
And you’re not coming back
My computer club nights, forever
Not gonna die, we just multiply
Forever, forever, forever, forever
And ever, and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever
My computer club nights, forever
Not gonna die, we just multiply
Forever, forever, forever, forever
And ever, and ever, and ever, and ever, and ever
