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letra de bangles - heems

[big baby gandhi]
uh, gandhi
on my way to the lab met my first real fan
said my verse real grand
i said, “please, chill stan.”
who i really write for, my moms and my brother
that’s why i’m really quite raw, my songs is my lover
going no jimmy, my flow is so silly
gandhi best rapper, got you going oh really
so, feel me when i say i never knew love, like new love
true thug, do drugs, then i ask for group hug
baby so funny, you can call me robin williams
got no money, you can catch me rob and steal some
gandhi sounding real pun, when i’m just a metaphor
big baby gandhi why i love the cheddar for
the ones who want it the most are they who lack it
see me on the block in my nehru jacket
with my kufi on
with my toufik(?) on
vintage polo, looking kinda groovy, huh

i don’t know what else to do (etc…)

[fat tony]
when i was under age i was unafraid
to step up on a stage
and request to get paid
used to detest any weak b-tch that would stand in my way
like a linksys, i was wireless, tireless
i just couldn’t be contained
used to hang with my n-ggas
and sang with my n-ggas
never slanged with my n-ggas
just used the internet and took pictures
used to put them up on my lj, my xanga, my mysp-ce
record songs at my place
to meet my cd-r release date
used to meet kate, with her sweet face
cause of my race, she liked my taste
and liked my songs, i liked her thong
we got it on, but it felt wrong
so i gave her back, like a rebate
but my life is rinse and repeat
now i’m with kate, in new york state
and life’s great
and i can’t hate

i don’t know what else to do (etc…)

[heems]
greedhead music
mike said, “rap about some beautiful sh-t.” (beauty)
i just want to rap about booties and simple sh-t (booties!)
beauty’s for the books, and i’m illiterate
‘gobbled and chewed up by the schools system’ immigrant
trying to make money like white people, and
learn how to be figurative, less literal
hyper literate, hyper referential
rap too minimal
trying to write for the guardian about pakistani generals
old guard sentinels
all god father with sensitive sweet s-xy similies for your mind sense and sh-t
dimension spins
i can’t drink as much
stop smoking blunts
don’t split the dutch
think i’ll quit the drugs
kicked to the curb, too much
you on whose nuts?
still puff the herb
dorothy & herb, get my art collection up
still can drink a little
poor myself another cup
what’s up? (x9)

i don’t know what else to do (etc…)

mike doesn’t look happy
what’s up? (x7)

- heems

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