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Crayons (feat. Open Mike Eagle & Something Something Brax)
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Listen to Crayons (feat. Open Mike Eagle & Something Something Brax) - Single by Milc & spinitch
ALBUMCrayons (feat. Open Mike Eagle & Something Something Brax) - SingleMilc & spinitch

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Credits

AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN
Milc
Milc
Künstler:in
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
Benjamin Johnson
Benjamin Johnson
Songwriter:in
Michael Eagle
Michael Eagle
Songwriter:in
B. Parry
B. Parry
Songwriter:in
Spencer Smyth
Spencer Smyth
Songwriter:in
PRODUKTION UND TECHNIK
spinitch
spinitch
Produzent:in

Lyrics

Not never a grandfather.
A wet rag stopped the back water.
I’m descended from black boomers.
I never met a draft dodger.
A tense moment got awkward.
It lasted long as a gobstopper.
I’m a traveler like John Popper
But sat still with the harmonica.
I’ll out rock your band marching.
And until it’s a bull market,
I thumb my nose at the sales target
To prevail it who can fail hardest.
When the cat’s mad, his spine arches.
They grown man but funny acting.
Stay gun rasping, not packing,
And tongue lashing from the upperclassmen.
Biz works in a dumb fashion.
It’s advertised as fantastic.
Who’s brave and who can run fastest?
Saw a flag pole, I jumped past it.
You an asshole with one passion.
You an asshole with no asterisk.
All macho but no savage.
A fake mogul with broke habits.
My nickname’s a dark secret
In black words on a gold jacket.
Fake nose and a sex pack
And a blue rose in your death bag.
I flew coach and I’m jet-lagged.
It’s bad and broke without a meth lab.
That’s it. Yeah, that’s pretty much it.
The loop is nice, the raps are mean.
We shooting dice, living past our means.
The blues is white and most cash is green.
They do the rights when I bag the scene.
Only shorty ever called me by my government.
Son these rappers, next put them on punishment.
Stealing my bars and I’m out for your publisher.
Other half of the verse don’t know what that rubbish mean.
On stolen land, they’ve been red-lined and gentrified.
Still rep our shit hard but what that symbolize?
They say it’s art but didn’t start up an enterprise.
Too blind to read the lines, I had to improvise.
Sip a brew and jog, try and make sense of this.
Sometimes I don’t even know what the incentive is.
These other dudes is too sensitive.
Throw a tantrum if I forget to mention them.
Show love, it wasn’t reciprocated.
Might be affiliated, never initiated.
A ball for anyone outside that didn’t make it.
Who gon’ shake shit up? I got the city waiting.
Show you the water here, teach you how to fish.
But you too concerned, rather you beefing ‘bout a… (smacks lips)
I’m too old for that word, we gonna keep it out the script.
I’ma rock the show but I can’t leave without my chips.
Oh, God.
Never gonna out-sprint your shadow.
Even if you master impressions like Will Sasso.
When you lay your head on that pillow, it’ll be you.
Ain’t no lane switching, rage quitting, no redos.
They try to deal the kid a seven deuce.
To make it worse, they didn’t match the suits.
Sometimes I stew about it, the result is nasty moods.
But other times I move.
In a jiffy, I’ma come across my groove and smooth.
Like lanolin oil soaked in a catcher’s mitt.
Shit that I grapple with, feel like George Hackenschmidt.
I’m prepared to fight but I prefer to be a pacifist.
People think I’m paranoid just because I’m passionate.
Last call in the bar, getting ravenous.
Way to practice cuts, raising my averages.
I need to find a balance like I’m standing on a BOSU ball.
Head, shoulders, knees, toes and all
Written by: B. Parry, Benjamin Johnson, Michael Eagle, Spencer Smyth

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