lirik lagu whyte mtn. – microphone
[verse 1]
everyone wants to be alone on that microphone
grab the cape, be the hero as they take her home
cuz what starts as a calm conversation in the evening
turns into drool, verbal abuse, and heavy breathing
not a single second wasted
i’m a clockmaker in a delorean in the wrong time zone
d-mnit!
thought i had the correct calibrations
i stand before the tombstone of hip-hop in this generation
no vocal lessons for these rappers, they have auto-tune
you blowing up, but n-body’s cranking the volume
ironic how in the world that’s so expensive
we went from free tibet to freemason
now, wake up!
two scoops of sunshine and raisin
cuz once you speak, they’ll shut down your opinion
worse, they’ll sh-t on it with an empty bowel
f-ck that, imma k!ll u when i buy that vowel
2 gigabyte drive, i see you reached your limit
money on my mind, but i’m able to change the subject
but after 2016, can’t ignore the discrepancies
an orange xenophob with a small handful of bankruptcies
mein kampf minded
billions in debt to china
political correctness, grab them by the v-g-n- (woo!)
bullsh-t diet-tian
middle finger mannerism
how ’bout a tall gl-ss of vitamin d and optimism?
hmm, enriching
daily dosage of b-tching
i grew up with a broken dial on my television
so, what is there for you to complain about?
not enough cotton candy and trips on the merry-go-round
no more band-aids for all the boo-hoo’s and boo-boo’s
shop at home depot for rope to tie your noose
no roof on your whip, but how about the ceiling?
hang loose, bruhda with a shaka greeting
broke–ss student, still paying loans
life is a gamble, no wonder we are throwing bones
enter the scenario
scorpio eye-candy from tokyo
who could bust nuts like pistachios or contribute f-ll-t–s
p-ssy hitting streak looking like dimaggio’s
fresh boutonniere, mr. city of the rose
game changer, play mahjong with dominos
if you don’t already know
i’m an immigrant citizen
so f-ck you if you need to see any doc-ments
resort to deportation at the graduation
diplomas handed over, invalid certification
verify ident-ty by pulling out the race card
but too d-mn often i’m stopped by a police car
early morning alarm clocks, i’m tired of the sirens
9 millimeter attachments, i’m tired of the silence
easy come, easy go
broken antennas, won’t tolerate the radio
this ain’t no charity case orphanage for whack lyrics
popping laxatives, i still couldn’t give two sh-ts
lemme sugar coat my d-ck and have you taste victory
swish-swash that mouthwash to a sweet memory
of me, envy
whyte mountain
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