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letra de mr. magic - charles kings

always so fit think i’m hanes comfort waistbands
y’all are just snakes so i think your mark grace fans
not skating when i’m saying that america’s my wasteland
balling up these creatures, think this is sp-ce jam
basecamp starting from, rhymes are my militia
pretty middle cl-ss but my flow so aristocratic
and in fact it gets oh so dramatic when
debating call me atticus defendants turn to pacifists
i’m yelling like an activist in the booth like an -n-lyst
on beats i be a catalyst indeed i be an advocate
music i be blasting this, your tunes make me a m-s-ch-st
sitting on a satellite spitting out fanatic hymns
saliva is probably dried by the time it reach my latter kin
words they be rattling from st. chucks to madeline
heard from the church climb the tower ring the bell
i got these heavenly rhymes but a mind straight from h-ll

mr. magic, where have you gone?
mr. magic, you turn me on

i’ve seen your girl all up at my show she’s trying to get these digits
hit me up now she’s on her way over here to kick it
going out with the gang cus my boy just got his license
swear to god this is gonna be a fun -ss night since
we all here just trying to have a good time
oh that’s your girl? said i make you wish you could rhyme
or even could try, can’t work this equipment
told her sorry i stay in on friday sample flipping
but its worth the tracks we lay got y’all tripping
not to mention how your girl rocks my boat, tipping
we out and about, like a nice stroll
your crew try to hate, we sit back and l-o-l
that’s laugh out loud on you little boys
reason that you try, mysterious kilroy
since they loving all the things that i do with the mic
it’s no wonder why your girl keep calling me like..

mr. magic, where have you gone?
mr. magic, you turn me on

i’m elusive with the tunes so you’ll think that i’m a magic man
music dropping nukes so you’ll think that i’m the taliban
roll you like an avalanche, beefy as a cattle ranch
got em’ spinning donos like “oh no he’s back again”
back again better bet it, better call the paramedics
knock you out like anesthetics, sorry if you’re diabetic
wait i’m not apologetic might as well blame your genetics
“you can’t really rhyme” ok there, i said it
cus’ i ain’t one dimensional, hear me no congressional
sitting on my sectional this notebook is my confessional
look is quite respectable, feeling so professional
timing is impeccable my rhyming is exceptional
you’re clowns in my festival this town is my centerfold
sorry i’m reputable you’re sorry as a funeral
we’re grown but we’re kids we’re paradoxically juvenile
we’re paradoxically juvenile

mr. magic, where have you gone?
mr. magic, you turn me on
mr. magic, where have you gone?
mr. magic, you turn me on

mr. magic, mr. magic, mr. magic..

- charles kings

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