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letra de (small things) to a giant - daveed diggs

[intro: daveed diggs]
ha!
small things to a giant
let’s get it

[verse 1: daveed diggs]
d-mn, feeling like a cold game
i remember when we used to spit that propane
but now they want this cold swag in them skinny jeans
so they pocket these bars that give them n-ggas brain freeze
is that cold enough? (oof) icy flow (oof)
they want similes, as in, “like, you know?”
but really that’s no different from how i was taught to flow
and uncover my tell-tale heart, edgar allen poe
a dead writer, in these fast times
trying to get you ridgemont high off my past lines
a man named stevie told me paradise was past time
so f-ck that future sh-t–my ancestors get gas lines
i’m from a long line, standing on broad shoulders
seeing higher than most these rappers can fly over
and it’s all gravity, i’m magnetizing minds over
santa’s workshop in antarctica: bi-polar
and i write smart–ss speeches
but my chick’s -ss? that’s a d-mn g*nius
and with all that in my corner, wonder why i’m speechless
to all these teenagers talking their sh-t: shut up, beavis
matter of fact, break out them br-ss knuckles and see me, son
never understand why a sucker with a gl-ss jaw want to talk so much
so you really think your talk mean sh-t to a scribe
that go as hard as us?
count our success on the heads
of these outdated haters like an abacus

[chorus: daveed diggs]
you over there feeling brave, huh? don’t try it
these peasants can’t respect the king! so defiant
“off with their head” flow–i’m a tyrant
recognize you’re talking small things to a giant
small things to a giant
recognize you’re talking small things to a giant
small things to a giant
small things to a giant
recognize you’re talking small things to a giant

[verse 2: rafael casal]
me and diggs taking off the doors of the bucket
slapping stock speakers ’til the tweeters blow, f-ck it
sunflower seeds, peach rings, and a fifth of henny
folks say i’m out my f-cking mind
when i smoke my weed in public
they after what rafa got (yep!)
flipping a bird in a cold game, call me cobblepot
flipping a word in my own lingus, i talk a lot
i got talk i gotta get off my brain
i got brain i gotta get from a dame who give boss a lot
she can talk to c-ck and if you talking sh-t
i’m really with the sh-t, so you can talk to glock (oops)
just got a bit carried away, okay? my bad, don’t run
hippie thug, peace, love, and guns
took a hippie drug strip on my tongue
now i’m trippin’ tons, had an epiphany; let me epiphanate
about how i’m nothing like all of these simpletons
simple guy, but with a little funds
can make minis into giants: riperton
guess i’m caught up living in my getback state of mind (getback!)
state of affairs from these players hanging exit signs (yep!)
showing the less rare the way to run when we light the fire
call for rafa-el when you done with liars, liars

[verse 3: daveed diggs]
if i’m being honest, i don’t give a f-ck about your feelings
when the gas turn on, it’s
burn, baby, burn build up, turn to the ceiling
this infernal disco
schizo to the left, give the whole thing a grandiose feeling
two king kong rapping motherf-ckers smashing on the game
like it was just a village building
and all of these village people
costumed to distract from content
and want to contend when every other word we utter
is another f-cking bomb threat
are we on yet?
but it really doesn’t matter cause we overstepping
step over the onset
of all of these copycat they-might-be giants
trying to walk miles in our steps
as we step-by-step father a roster of monster tracks
and foster farm a million minions with oakland up on they backs
building pyramids in the town, bay area imhotep
this tomb is for you and for every other faking–ss pharaoh
hating on my set
on my mark, call these marks making narcoleptic art
sleeping on this sleeping giant hiding out in defremery park
swear i’m not going to defend my name a dependable pen game
pending the start of the storm that is coming
when it storm and you running for the hills
really, b-tch? better build that ark

- daveed diggs

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