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Little Death - Lupe Fiasco/Nikki Jean Written by:S1/VohnBeatz
Now bring it out Like a finger in the back of your mouth
Cherubs and cerebellum terror is everywhere Sam marrying sam Bam pushed upon the finger of sam's hairiest hand
If that sickens you you a bigot
If it doesn't well you're wicked
Such is life Odd as egg mcmuffins at night No answers so let us watch these dancers Structure reformed gracefully being born On the pallet of dark greys concaves and spirals Kaleidoscope into a eiffel It ripples then it tidals Vacillates then it virals
Babylon's in the bibles and others
And tell me of the spinning mothers
And today's mathematics for beloved And beasts' bellies covered like the cummerbunds of Butlers How was your day can I make what you say What I wanna hear cause I want you here
The hell that we raised to the heavens do anything For
La petite mort la petite mort They keep the bottles just to make glass houses Then climb up to the second floors and throw rocks Out it
Then expect not a volley in reply Some place vulnerable like prolly in the eye
What of the chicken what is it missin' is it Dry Did it die in some inhumane conditions so it didn't Go relaxed And attention from its demise pulled all of the flavour From the fat And made it flat and rather lifeless Well there's a place that has a stunning And more mercifully murdered pisces
But barbaric are still the prices It's rather niceless apricot in dices and fromage Slices My son will call risotto rices If and when he's left to his own devices well How is your memory Is it returning like a lemon tree To bear bitter fruit of what you meant to me Or was it slippin' like permission am I trippin' Like Phil I feel I'm grippin' but maybe the transition Still left out the life also left out the will Grief Will cheese never touch your teeth Maybe like kosher beef
Is it real is it real is it real
Ha hah How at the date can I make you my break Cause I want you dear ooh I want you dear
The hell that we raised to the heavens make for Our petite mort our petite mort
So glad you're back but not glad at that you're
Where is the glamour in collapse
Where in the shatter of the facts shoves one back To a pattern of stab wounds Swoon ridden goons consumed and driven mad soon The attended years slowly fills with baboons
That other monkey business Where killers go free cause a junkie's a funky Witness Runny mascaras from the cunning mask wearers of Death Bygone errors sittin' like two oil derricks Separated by a sea of cooling num nums Reminiscing of an every day playing hum drum
Where recognition went unnoticed
And then solidified till it was stoic We should've been poets
Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of Iambic pentameter How are your chains do they make you behave Keep you over here by your overseer
Fallen from grace down from heaven to memories
La petite mort la petite mort
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Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of Iambic pentameter How are your chains do they make you behave Keep you over here by your overseer
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