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letra de noname show - rhymer/educator

(verse one)

broke boy this week, but as she speaks her truth brings lows to my soul then brings peaks. unfolds me like clean sheets. tell me a story it’s bedtime, them fabric softener rhymes, like sweet dreams. telefone induced hibernation. never been so fond of a bond with a rotation, just cozied up with a record, the lavender sleeve my dress shirt, matches the artwork on the work that made me respect her. audio sweet nectar. listening to its dripping. you question heaven’s existing, i got it with free shipping. channels billie while rhyming. i sit sipping my 20 oz. a venti, divine, she gifts aplenty. she mentors, makes me her mentee, she fresh enough to be minty, smooth criminal how she gets me, firm lyrically, instrumentally, on soft beats, al dente, she do her thing independently. and this is what it meant to me

(chorus)

can i get two tickets to a noname show, two tickets to a noname show broke boy this week but i got good taste though (2x)

(verse two)

self-promotes songs, independent, so it’s vital. on my twitter page, dreamt about a copy on vinyl. it’s a limited edition. i can’t make a purchase, cuz i’d need my wife’s permission and she says it isn’t worth it because i don’t own a player. rhymer/educator. spit the fire but lack the hi-fi, stream it on the wi-fi, thinking that she made the chi right, since she dropped, when i heard the diddy-bop, put her record at the top, next to tribe, comm sense, blackstar, aquemini, every song is hella-fly, when the days go by i’ve got a soundtrack. proud, hope she plaques the triple plat, she’s the best in my opinion, my opinion’s triple facts. all of that. she’s the sing-a-long, the one i want to bring along, the coffee and the cream that keeps me warm as i daydream along. centerpiece, time piece, my peace, nia long. beauty, poetry, and humanity in a song

(verse three)

rainy days staring out the window. a puddle forms a little on the playground, wishing i could play around. melancholy moments make me revisit my issues, grab a tissue, think about my father, wish he would have stayed around, but she’s my remedy for that. my escape route. she’s a champagne flute, as she flows through the room. she’s a ticket in first cl-ss, wilson pickett, same s-ss, less grit, still legit, like ella fitz, it makes jazz-sense. she s-ssafras, her words have many uses. peace out like deuces. hang from every lyric like she nooses. entertained by everything she chooses. radio does not dictate the coolness. her music is the coffee house, trendy blouse, femme fetale, mighty mouse, opposite of enervate, noname with that gypsy style, circ-mvent the fan mail, noname can you hear me now? and i’ll be singing this for a while

- rhymereducator

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