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letra de memoir: entry i/who am i - terrell

[part one]

[verse 1]
this is a memoir
of things i think i was sent for
a centaur, couldn’t k!ll this, so there for
i’ve lost all hope for a happy ending
depending on whether or not it’s worth it
pretending i could be perfect
going nowhere, i notice
i’m not the type to lose focus
ain’t pulling a hocus pocus
want them to call me a locus
or center of attention
did i mention
there’s no tension in my perception
of inching closer to a thing they call perfection
seriously, just take me in as i am
no need to cram
i’m here to jam
can’t stand being called sam
f-cking morons, that ain’t my f-cking name
guess they ashamed
they wanted someone who i just never became
but who’s to blame if i’m a lion and they tripping over my mane
i know the difference in persistence and steady keeping the same old
boring washed up, rinse out and repeat scheme
sour night terrors wanna turn into sweet dreams
but we think, distinguishing could f-ck with the previously
existing pricks to pick up on the game and just leave me
behind, so i just fall back
i’m guessing that you could call that
a lesson learned from a n-gg- repping xo with a ball cap
it’s all rap though, in the end i suppose
and i’m opposed to certain theories on how we treating the hoes
the saying goes
takes one to know one
but no one knows me
so here i am just by my lonesome
but still ain’t lonely
the old me, would prolly get a pen and write about it
but the new me never write so i take my time and i type about it
so whys the hype surrounding
an average grown -ss kid
wondering what’s left to type about it
my mind is clouded

[verse 2]
let the wind blow
sun shining through the cracks
if it’s as simple as that
to find the silver lining
then why in the f-ck would i wanna spend my time crying
it don’t make sense but since these dollars make me forget
all my underlining problems, i’m bold when i use the pen
molding to something when
the brush inside my mind can paint the picture vivid
living and f-cking k!lling to apprehend
that i’m the goat
no need to boast and i sure don’t have to pretend
i got the mcm, every week
all year long
most creative music, and it’s heard through every song
don’t get me wrong, i wanna be on top
they’ll call me king kong
play me on bet mtv, viacom
ride along, don’t let me break your kevin hart
i’ll write a song with many punchlines
try to tell us apart
tell me this isn’t art
i’ll draw a knife and stab you with it
that’s just where i’ll start
teach you the ropes before i hang you with it
that’s the f-cking game you winning
better say your grace like its maf-cking thanksgiving
teezy got flow, ain’t big or pac but i’m close
how the f-ck i’m supposed to win when they got me fighting some ghosts
i’m so ahead of my time, my parents haven’t met me yet
i’m a f-cking alien labeled up as a big regret
am i being too forward, let me rewind that
play the good times and search for one that i can pause at
where the flaws at
i didn’t even edit yet
skin black so they offended by my etiquette
man this praying got me feeling like connecticut
think about it for a sec, you’ll see why i can never quit
i’m too legit to fail over some f-cking foolish shit
when n-gg-s tried to help before, i learned they all full of it
felt the motion, put all notions aside
emotion on an override
from devotion of loving overtime

[part ii/who am i]

who am i?
this isn’t a story about finding myself
cause apparently i’ve done that
but i must’ve forgot
so… the plot thickens
this is actually a story about the city i live in
the 513, cincinnati, our views are different
if you just listen, a little closely
then maybe perhaps….
you can see my perception
and my drive to…. only reach perfection
but that’s impossible
right?
or i thought it was…

cause when i thought to myself a new world was born
uplifting, i’ll k!ll it just take a listen
please just…
give me the chance
i can break free…
of the confinement they put me in
i hear the laughter
they think i’m a joke
are they serious?
at least i’m doing something with myself…
or i’m delirious
can’t hardly tell anymore
this city’s a bore…
there’s nothing here for me…
my dreams…
i can see them slip away.,,
is it sad think like this?

perhaps… but at least i’m honest…
do you ever get that vague feeling of something called dèjavu?
cause i do

- terrell

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