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letra de stoner's story - isaac barrow

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in this coma i noticed a spare copy of illmatic, a loose vinyl dripping out of it’s sleeve like a compulsive borderline adhd anxious sleeve biter gone erratic, without scissors to cut the over-running fabric. one love spoke to me, seems we all have similar fumes to consume but different recipe books which we use and different radio stations to which we tune. it seems all modern feeds feed the same old meals, while the benefactors reap the same old mils. conscious rappers are what’s catchy in college, but none of them actually drop futuristic knowledge, just recycle the ideas of the trash of the past and occasionally drop a braggadocio hit to save their career’s -ss as they pick up their base-less figuratively empty wallet and check the time with over-priced gl-ss

as i elevate higher i wonder if my mind tires or if my eyes are just tired from the things i realize when i get higher. it makes me wonder if tires on the side of the road represent being tired or if all our brains are wired together and our thoughts are highly combustible close to the cliff like a huxtable, but that’s just an intro, back to the topic led off thanks to hydro, combustible like vegetation resulting in forest fire in our minds that burn slow like a blunt with yayo

this one thing i wanna make clear, i don’t know about the life of holding crack smoke in my ears or waking up with narc fears, or shedding people in the form of tears. but i don’t claim to be nor do i have a high school career that lasted eight years, nor do i have any songs boasting about my infatuation with hating queers. i give a f-ck but that f-ck has deteriorated over the years, seeing as how i don’t write about simple homicides that seem mere or queers or casualties disguised as tears, but more so fears, my f-cked up peers and the things that i usually throw with my voice but fall on deaf ears or turn into dead peers

never have i owned a gun but i’ve never boasted otherwise, other things turned out to be wiser. a wise err turned out to be a blessing in disguise, this guy’s inhibition seems transparent like a tran parent without a name that is apparent or ripped up jeans with holes in it before you even tear it. elusive illusions have away of evading before they invade you, instead of fooling you they wind up fully in you before you can launch them out and give them a choice word or two

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