lirik lagu homeboy sandman - eyes
[verse 1]
time and sp-ce wrinkles
it gets deeper than my face wrinkles
so many time zones, time slows ’til i’m a dinosaur
with my name all around the connoisseur tonsils
i’ve taken everything this city has to give at last
all that’s left to do is hibernate and build muscle m-ss
this sh-t’s like living in a f-ckin cave
this sh-t’s like living in a f-ckin cage
you could leave me out of your loop
black, brown, poor, i’m not trying to be part of your group
so save the lecture and the swearing
cause i don’t care about how you feel about me not caring
the magic of my maturation
all the ign’ance just figments of my imagination
i represent the ascent from suspended animation
sun
[hook]
you seen ’em on they way up
and start believing they hot
but that don’t mean that they us
i seen it all in they eyes
you seen ’em on they way up
and start believing they hot
but that don’t mean that they us
i seen it all in they eyes
i seen it all in they eyes
[verse 2]
instead of being in witness protection
i’m in abundance or my budding skully collection
in pajamas at jobs that i don’t juggle
when there’s trouble i go to the no huddle
you wouldn’t be the first to try and burst my bubble
but i’m still in the clouds just like the bear that sells snuggle
except the bear is in a bear bubble
peep the bear
pair of supple br–sts on his beard stubble
i stay in the zone
i don’t swim with sharks
i float and they’re just smart enough to leave me alone
i used to be the one that wanted people’s hands to clap
people all up on me like i sat in front the transit map
now i keep it low key like a baritone
remind me of the time i got some p-ssy while my parents home
just trying to get a nut and go unnoticed
anything beyond that is a bonus
[hook]
[verse 3]
do what i gots ta
like to send a shout out to my instagram imposter
being a faker is nothing to get props for
at least you’re not a fake -ss mobster
at least you’re not a fake -ss poser
fake -ss posture
“buffalo soldier, dreadlock rasta
heart of america”
set up on the ventricles
laid up on the atrium
hop up off the t-st-cl-s
i give thanks
the gl-ss isn’t half empty or half full
it’s all drank
a lesson to the fast women
sosa’s waiting in the lab
don’t be waiting ’til the last minute
pocket mad mints at the bistro
the sargeant ran prints right after the freak show
after we ran sprints, i always hit the free throw
i’m boy sand, sweetie
[hook]
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