lirik lagu stormitive – eye 1 2 rap
i don’t want to rap anymore
i don’t want to rap, i just can’t settle the score
i expect so much and it’s such a demanding ch-r-
that bends logic and tricks my mind, is two plus two really four?
the rap i love fills my heart with horror
and makes me think, could my rap ever compare with this lore?
i just am too depressed to make those bars for
myself and a few others who don’t knock on my door
to rap or not to rap, that is the question
do we really all live in the same dimension?
where y’all at? these happy people
these ones who do good and live well and relinquish evil?
am i evil? is that why my life has remorse
and i often feel like from happiness, my heart is divorced?
and now i’m engaged to be married to loneliness and obsession
with thinking so very often and asking too many questions
because my life is eclectic. congo drums and synthesizers
are all i really understand and the rest is for the wiser
like what is love? what’s a friend? what do you do
when you’re reading a book or watching a show and it ends?
just bend over backwards and celebrate with a dance?
take off your pants, wave them above your head, and prance?
no chance! i can’t believe that is the right answer
because i don’t see anyone else doing that….
am i mad? i must be blind or have some type of bleary vision
where living good is not apparent and not possible seems precision
i just listen, and laugh, and contemplate the possibilities
that we actualize through our actions like watching silly cheese-y
movies, like that comedy bout swiss, cheddar, and pepper-jack
the three cheeses sweetly please insomniacs
who can’t relax so they stay up all night
accompanied by light and audio, dancing pixels delight
i don’t feel right. not to say i don’t feel ok
i just think that i am wrong about every idea i say
not the ones i think, those all sound just fine
but once the hecking hectic swarm of neurons escapes my mind
those strange ideas all seem less than devine
but i make some rhyme. sometimes
i don’t want to rap anymore
i don’t want to rap, i just can’t settle the score
i expect so much and it’s such a demanding ch-r-
that bends logic, is two plus two really four?
the rap i love fills my heart with horror
when i think, could my rap ever compare with this lore?
i just am too depressed to make those bars for
myself and a few others who don’t knock on my door
too depressed to rap, too young to rage
my mind has they key and my body is a cage
shout out to arcade fire, ok, that’s out the way
had to throw one in, my love goggles obfuscate
whatchu thinkin bout? what this fool mean “love goggles”?
well let me tell you something, mind and heart, full throttle
my love goggles are my pupils, my lenses, and my retinas
my anterior and posterior chambers, my corneas
that’s right, they are just simply my eyes
and sometimes, i think these love goggles are truly my demise
because a love-struck fool who loves his entire world
can’t relate with negative boys, negative teachers, or negative girls!
and boy, negative girls? they’re not uncommon or unfurled
at least not to me because my love goggles make me a lovey freak
kind of positive, erratic, saying nothing, breathing deep
i just weep when i love those who know not what they do
i mean, they know on some level, but they know not what they do
i mean, they make these life choices, but they know not what they do
i mean, they skip cl-ss and party hard, but they know not what they do
and who are you? and why do you really do what you really do?
is it true to yourself? do you live your life trying to be someone else?
shut up, stop asking questions, go har-ss someone else
these raps bars did nothing wrong to you, so why you banging on the shelves?
i mean the bars, right? that’s what they call’em
if i practice this craft more, then maybe my bars’ll become awesome
but what does devoting ourselves to crafts and hobbies really cost us?
it’s just time, and time’s all relative like that show called the office, um
i don’t want to rap anymore, just gonna go and watch the office
i don’t want to rap, i just can’t settle the score
i expect so much and it’s such a demanding ch-r-
that bends logic, is two plus two really four?
the rap i love fills my heart with horror
when i think, could my rap ever compare with this lore?
i just am too depressed to make those bars for
myself and a few others who don’t knock on my door
ok, i might rap, whatever, might as well medicate
myself with this false sense of accomplishment
“oh, you made a rap alb-m? wow! good for you! that’s great!”
except n-body bangs their heads to the songs i writ
i mean, i wrote. shoot! but yeah, i’ve got no bangers
these songs are not vibey, party-esque, or even slight toe jammers
they just ask a million questions and provide no answers
like a textbook without that section in the back with the answers
i’m just perplexed by what i see and i don’t have any answers
and our world looks cool through my love-goggles, but i have no answers
so even though i write songs, i don’t have any answers
or wisdom to disperse or knowledge to give away
i barely even engage emotions which through my lyrics, i could convey
so i just write and ramble and bang on some keys and some frets
and i still haven’t given up yet
indeed, check it out, i don’t make any bangers
my lyrics have no function like broken coat hangers
useless, anonymous, belongs in the trash
bold and brash? nah, worth as much as some blunt’s ash
holy cr-p! it’s such a reluctant decision
i make this rap and write these bars imagining people will listen
but they’re no good! (pause) man, i’m not frank ocean
i’m not kendrick lamar, i’m not well-versed or well-spoken
but nonetheless, this is the hobby i’ve chosen
in an attempt to keep my life raft with my happiness floatin’
i spend a lot of my days just boolin and bowling and bawling
about how i got my phone and not many people a’calling
they too busy in their own dimension, having fun lawling
and i do that sometimes too, rarely
lot of time spent on my own, writing poems, eating dairy
i’m just a rapper. just some hairy h-m-sapien
if nothing else, my rap is mine and no one’s taking it
i want to rap. i want to rap. i want to rap. i want to rap…
ok, well, you got it
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