consolation (inspired by Butter Sunday, a poem by Gabrielle Octavia Rucker)
๐ต 1747 characters
โฑ๏ธ 2:47 duration
๐ ID: 2874355
๐ Lyrics
Four to the floor, Lord of the lore
You know, I'm never not keeping score
You know the name I'm not responding to anymore
Eyes lit by the holy flame of the Marshall sword
I suppose things have changed, nigga
Every drop of marrow barbarous, bloody, congealed, chunky grind
Cycles of the pepper mill, keep it funky slime
Young dreamers pussyfootin'
My fear wouldn't let me blink
The blacksmith at the sink, soaking hands of war
Well fed, my consolation
Well fed, my consolation
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well fed, my consolation
Well fed, my consolation
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well said, my conscience narrating
Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
I know what it means to be
I know what it means to be
I know what it means to be
All types of fighting, from psychic to body blows
The troubles I been had that don't nobody know
Various puzzle tactics, linguist acrobatics
Mingus with the madness, Oolong in the Hydro Flask churning
Brain-burning holes in old favorites
Of course the rages ignite fires and those consume me, usually
Unless the sparkplugs is damp
Every night I rub the lamp and make my three wishes
Feedback symposium, min-max most of 'em
You know I'm cold with the die roll
Like most niggas from Chicago
Used to stand downtown in front that Picasso and say
"One day, Ferreira gon' ring like that"
Well fed, my consolation
Well fed, my consolation
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well fed, my consolation
Well fed, my consolation
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well said, my conscience narrating
Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
I study life around me
You know, I'm never not keeping score
You know the name I'm not responding to anymore
Eyes lit by the holy flame of the Marshall sword
I suppose things have changed, nigga
Every drop of marrow barbarous, bloody, congealed, chunky grind
Cycles of the pepper mill, keep it funky slime
Young dreamers pussyfootin'
My fear wouldn't let me blink
The blacksmith at the sink, soaking hands of war
Well fed, my consolation
Well fed, my consolation
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well fed, my consolation
Well fed, my consolation
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well said, my conscience narrating
Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
I know what it means to be
I know what it means to be
I know what it means to be
All types of fighting, from psychic to body blows
The troubles I been had that don't nobody know
Various puzzle tactics, linguist acrobatics
Mingus with the madness, Oolong in the Hydro Flask churning
Brain-burning holes in old favorites
Of course the rages ignite fires and those consume me, usually
Unless the sparkplugs is damp
Every night I rub the lamp and make my three wishes
Feedback symposium, min-max most of 'em
You know I'm cold with the die roll
Like most niggas from Chicago
Used to stand downtown in front that Picasso and say
"One day, Ferreira gon' ring like that"
Well fed, my consolation
Well fed, my consolation
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well fed, my consolation
Well fed, my consolation
Well said, my conscience narrating
Well said, my conscience narrating
Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
I study life around me
โฑ๏ธ Synced Lyrics
[00:00.88] Four to the floor, Lord of the lore
[00:03.53] You know, I'm never not keeping score
[00:05.96] You know the name I'm not responding to anymore
[00:08.06] Eyes lit by the holy flame of the Marshall sword
[00:10.79] I suppose things have changed, nigga
[00:12.82] Every drop of marrow barbarous, bloody, congealed, chunky grind
[00:16.37] Cycles of the pepper mill, keep it funky slime
[00:19.08] Young dreamers pussyfootin'
[00:20.66] My fear wouldn't let me blink
[00:22.37] The blacksmith at the sink, soaking hands of war
[00:25.50] Well fed, my consolation
[00:28.48] Well fed, my consolation
[00:31.73] Well said, my conscience narrating
[00:35.10] Well said, my conscience narrating
[00:38.38] Well fed, my consolation
[00:41.56] Well fed, my consolation
[00:44.82] Well said, my conscience narrating
[00:48.30] Well said, my conscience narrating
[00:51.25] Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
[00:57.71] Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
[01:03.87] I know what it means to be
[01:07.32] I know what it means to be
[01:10.56] I know what it means to be
[01:17.58] All types of fighting, from psychic to body blows
[01:21.30] The troubles I been had that don't nobody know
[01:24.58] Various puzzle tactics, linguist acrobatics
[01:27.60] Mingus with the madness, Oolong in the Hydro Flask churning
[01:31.64] Brain-burning holes in old favorites
[01:34.02] Of course the rages ignite fires and those consume me, usually
[01:38.02] Unless the sparkplugs is damp
[01:40.48] Every night I rub the lamp and make my three wishes
[01:43.11] Feedback symposium, min-max most of 'em
[01:46.06] You know I'm cold with the die roll
[01:47.65] Like most niggas from Chicago
[01:49.05] Used to stand downtown in front that Picasso and say
[01:51.96] "One day, Ferreira gon' ring like that"
[01:56.78] Well fed, my consolation
[01:59.93] Well fed, my consolation
[02:03.12] Well said, my conscience narrating
[02:06.24] Well said, my conscience narrating
[02:09.59] Well fed, my consolation
[02:12.74] Well fed, my consolation
[02:15.60] Well said, my conscience narrating
[02:19.13] Well said, my conscience narrating
[02:23.03] Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
[02:29.08] I study life around me
[02:31.77]
[00:03.53] You know, I'm never not keeping score
[00:05.96] You know the name I'm not responding to anymore
[00:08.06] Eyes lit by the holy flame of the Marshall sword
[00:10.79] I suppose things have changed, nigga
[00:12.82] Every drop of marrow barbarous, bloody, congealed, chunky grind
[00:16.37] Cycles of the pepper mill, keep it funky slime
[00:19.08] Young dreamers pussyfootin'
[00:20.66] My fear wouldn't let me blink
[00:22.37] The blacksmith at the sink, soaking hands of war
[00:25.50] Well fed, my consolation
[00:28.48] Well fed, my consolation
[00:31.73] Well said, my conscience narrating
[00:35.10] Well said, my conscience narrating
[00:38.38] Well fed, my consolation
[00:41.56] Well fed, my consolation
[00:44.82] Well said, my conscience narrating
[00:48.30] Well said, my conscience narrating
[00:51.25] Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
[00:57.71] Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
[01:03.87] I know what it means to be
[01:07.32] I know what it means to be
[01:10.56] I know what it means to be
[01:17.58] All types of fighting, from psychic to body blows
[01:21.30] The troubles I been had that don't nobody know
[01:24.58] Various puzzle tactics, linguist acrobatics
[01:27.60] Mingus with the madness, Oolong in the Hydro Flask churning
[01:31.64] Brain-burning holes in old favorites
[01:34.02] Of course the rages ignite fires and those consume me, usually
[01:38.02] Unless the sparkplugs is damp
[01:40.48] Every night I rub the lamp and make my three wishes
[01:43.11] Feedback symposium, min-max most of 'em
[01:46.06] You know I'm cold with the die roll
[01:47.65] Like most niggas from Chicago
[01:49.05] Used to stand downtown in front that Picasso and say
[01:51.96] "One day, Ferreira gon' ring like that"
[01:56.78] Well fed, my consolation
[01:59.93] Well fed, my consolation
[02:03.12] Well said, my conscience narrating
[02:06.24] Well said, my conscience narrating
[02:09.59] Well fed, my consolation
[02:12.74] Well fed, my consolation
[02:15.60] Well said, my conscience narrating
[02:19.13] Well said, my conscience narrating
[02:23.03] Intuit, breathe, what you feel is what you believe
[02:29.08] I study life around me
[02:31.77]