Ketone and AMP part 2. i dropped my mic the other day trying to pick it up from it's cord (dumb) and now the p's and t's (and breathes) are touchy. sorry about that last line popping, but i don't have a lot of spare time today.
god damn, i really don't feel like getting out of bed this morning,
let's see what's the weather's like outside...
more storm clouds are creeping over, the mountains,
i'm deep and sober, a fountain,
for speaking and spouting, over these beats i am bouting,
i think it is like fighting, a science in writing,
dissecting, uniting, words subsiding,
deep in my mind, where whole world's are colliding,
where you're better off hiding, never go seek,
what you find in my godforsaken mind,
the reason that they call me unique,
i was designed with mystique, my soul's an antique,
my coals burn whole hearted, when i start technique,
with the flow of a creek, the plateau of a peak,
i blow so to speak, like a gale,
then wind's in my sails to begin my travails,
i need to grab grails, and have tales told by old males,
on park benches, that feed quail, with bread that's gone stale,
all told, i'll probably fail,
it's hard to prevail, when barred in your own jail,
guarding your own cell, no yard time as well,
or as worse, reaction adverse,
when you've forgotten, how to uncast the curse,
who is going to act first, before they get their ass hurt?
the man, or the man in the mirror glass, rasp?
from spitting like i must be running from a rough past,
or at least, and at last, getting out from under the overcast.