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letra de concrete paradise - quadroon

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i’m raw as a brick cause i’m young for a shung
i go dumb as the dumps that mean i’m classic and traditional
elastic and original, fantastic individual
erratically irrational, immaculate, intentional

flowing like a swimming pool, swimming through my thoughts
slowing down the movement of the moment with my mind
growing like the ocean, though the world keeps shrinking
never lose sight of truth, but my eyes keep blinking

while i keep sinking, time keeps drinking
i’m porous as a cake of puerh straight stinking
open as a lake, enlightened by the gates of heaven
decisive, determined, designated and destined

etiquette is a method, check it…
you, edited as the message that you keep on texting
so let it all out, let it all go
just grow, in the shadow of the unknown

just know, your the spirit of divine in a form
undefined by the cultural context your born
within, cause within is where it is
without this sh-t, we are thin air walking upon stilts

confused n sincere, consume my big glare
assume your the sh-t, and get clipped like my chin hairs
i get sick off your hate, dumb off love
i’m sick of my fate, and cured by allure
to the underside, underlying all of understanding
the subtle ties, subsidized, summer time’s a lie
just to sell ourselves desires for the sake of reaping profit
we gunna blow up this world, tryna fill up our pocket

and suck out the soul, this is the front row
welcome to splash zone, drowned in the ocean of awareness
…this ocean is imperative
i’m hopeless and careless, but cloaked in attacthment

patience is the place where you at when you lack it
staying in this state like a bracket
waiting, waiting, waiting, patient

yo, i wander across the vallies thats illusive
the rhymes exclusive, and the st–ts not improving
so we erupting, my vocal combustion
destroy the corruption, and all the injustice

provoke me with purpose, cause i’m worth worship
sacrifical, the rap circus, worthless
beats packing heat like a thermos, turning
the rap game into action, sh-t’s urgent

i’m the typa cat that belongs in a clinic
leave your ass for forensics, and get thrown in corrections
self centered minds be claiming they essence
they all get be bent when the mic aprehended
is this the time of hour, when im done pretending
then i guess the world ending, with no deception
but back to the problem, of the rap revolver
who’s taken more shots than a cop officer

who solved the cracked code, with a mic and a cord
laying down rhymes, keeping in the mind the enormous
responsibility than gods’ instilled willingly
inside this busy bee, hearing the divine symphony i rap
doing this with my foot, i tape like that

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