From the recordings Hopefully More than a Blanket of 'I' Statements and Hopefully More than a Blanket of 'I' Statements (Streaming)
Lyrics
{Foundation} Sitting in a smokey room with bar chatter, listening to this lonely dude's jaw jabber. It seems he's on a mission to cause laughter, but his punchlines were weak; hence, the long pause after. Excuse me, bro, but I got a small bladder. If he'd only know, I'm really a stall splasher—the master, teaching these babies to crawl faster. Disaster, when you choosing to speak with no matter. Pocket full of bullshit, mind full of batter, lock you in a room with books ‘til y'all shatter. Bastard never knew what we're all after. As for your attitude of a child actor, capture and tie it up in a nice rapper and serve it back to ya’ like a pious pastor. You got it dude, here's a big thumbs up, but the honest truth I wish you'd shut the hell up. I can already see through all your silly little gimmicks: talking ‘bout we the truth like the inventor of eugenics. Acting like you work for the center of attention; talk a lot of shit for someone who never mentioned anything outside the realm of television. Everything you've said has gave me double vision. No, I never seen that show. No, I never heard of it. Yes, I feel the need to go ‘cause you haven't worded shit. They're like, “it's okay I can Google it on my phone.” Then I say, “nah, I'm cool. You can do that shit at home.” This useless pursuit of connecting through these objects distracts the mind from stimulating concepts. It seems so obvious, but others rarely comment. They got you blinded by the light of Halley's comet. They'll invite you in to consume the daily vomit, but I'm out the loop ‘cause I really hate the gossip. *Kyle, every boy pays for kisses. Do you know what I am saying?* {Hook} The repeated interaction of nonsense: I’m not bent out of shape, I just can’t relate to your philosophy like I don’t really know what you’re saying. Knaamsayin’? Nah, I don’t really know what you’re saying. Knaamsayin’? It goes, ready-set-go! Make a move toward the exit. I’m taken captive by dialogue I wasn’t invested in, like I don’t really know what you’re saying. Knaamsayin’? Nah, I don’t really know what you’re saying. Knaamsayin’? *Of course you don’t. I’m speaking in riddles.* {Orthodox} If I died now, I’d die confused—scratching my head, makin’ a bruise, throwin’ a fit. I gargle my own spit for reasons of sanitation. Libations of grease and dirt. Add a little more dung from a male cow: yes, but we still not done. And blow spots with speak snot through the holes where the cheeks rot as long as the beat's hot! Please not the human part; in fact, remove the art. No heart. Jump charts and reach the goal of an empty soul in a nice dirt hole. So drink up. The acid's fresh. We love how it goes down and burns through flesh. Caress the hypocrite, gain the profane, blow up like propane, repeat the same thing. Praise the monotonous mediocre jokers who claim they're an artist without a dope verse. Cohearse the young to corpses—metamorphosis. Forget who the dopest is! We're lost and blind, but we have on shine. So, it's all fine, enslaved in mind. Don’t have to grind, just be the same. Stand in line and play the game. {Optum-is7 the Prophet} This is the result when I speak on beats. 100,000 volts from my speech released. More energy seen then an EMP: clean and green, so you know it’s free—renewable immovable energy source. Light ya’ mind just like a forest torched that you’d seen from afar off. Now, the root of the cause was a bolt tossed from a lightning storm. My mind is where the clouds were formed. This cumulous nimbus using natural physics to maintain a bright and vibrant existence—I multiply with division to expand with precision. No one is missing. Everyone is getting hit then. Like a space cloud covering all the earths ground. Astronomical rain found in the underground—cosmological brain sound, condensing and perspiring from the mic now. Kung pow! Straight pouring on ‘em ‘cause my metaphors are enormous; yet, I remain dormant, historic. I guess you could say that my brain is stormin’: dominant, prominent, unspotted, innominate, anonymous, and uncommon. It’s the elected, eclectic, electric performance. {Ditty} I don’t really know what you’re saying. My visage is a non-verbal message with a blank stare vision, wondering how we got to conversating in the first place. I wouldn’t have been so keen to speaking knowing its retrograde basis. Homey-yo stay-off-my-stasis. Asics on your feet does not infer your head’s encasement. Acquainted, I own all my worth in saving face for actualizing ideals I deal instead of masturbating. Come corrected: deck? Inspect neck noose. Beck was always dope but I don’t know what he said. And that’s a life-long story, boring aftermath, for which I didn’t ask, but you proceeded past the cold shoulder. Over times two, the topics you reverted to had lacked thought: the roots of your back-up brandishing black thought bubbles. Cartoon/Seinfeld moment: foaming at the mouth like waiting for my dome to foment. Omen from the first word uttered; a mental mentos breath check and both my arms akimbo. Hostage consent form: sign Hancock. If there’s a rock behind your eyes, I’d rather talk to my pet rock. He’s often right and less belligerent. Estranged to how I like my friends inanimate. The cannabis has never benefited your argument, nor was I arguing, nor was I trying to talk. I’m jaded to being force-fed this information, knaamsayin’? (No. Hmm…) I don’t get it like the 99% pitching tents and shitting on public property with picket signs and telling others how to live properly. Or how you spent so much on buying famous art at Sotheby’s. Thanks for paying your money to dead people. Fecal matter in, feeble mind-numbing. Sorry, I gotta’ go man. My refrigerator’s running. *No, ya’ knaamsayin’? You’re hearing the “know” in “knaamsayin’,” but that’s not a “no.” That’s a “knaamsayin’,” sayin’?*