(Intro)

I've been busy

(Verse 1)

I've been busy rebuilding swashbuckling archeologists as Antarctic grave robbers

I've been busy back peddling and back washing the gray water like I think I'm an acclaimed doctor I've been busy

With the paroxysms now melted down to coping skills

Meaning I make mountain out of mole hill

In the south where the souls thrilled

Turn a roll call to a road kill as a dope till

For my next trick, hallucinatory cloud computing without the crowd rooting

It's, non-refundable in Oakland

Non-fungible token in ovum of

Lady Liberty when crackhead denim replaces time as an infinity's metric

I'm finna be wreckless imma set the mood proper

Shift the food down or

This women's decrepitudes bothered

(Chorus)

All the things I left America to forget

Where my heart and mind didn't do

And art declined recurrent party lines

With the anchor of skin

Emotional tolerance and resilience of the young is cut paper thin

But don't weigh me in

With the flat of the blade and the butt of the gun to the gut of the son like

(Verse 2)'

Oh fuck she didn't know I type dead center maintaining them high standards

Oh God a detaching economy

Had had a full meta my menace white

Flashes in the ribs

And they burble and they cringe

At the carols for the mega shifts of self-centeredness

Sysiphusian since I can't conform within the crypt

See them niggas' plugs of remembrance

So bitter enemies are clubbing with a clever mix

Well then it was fun to think

We, the Grand Jeweler of the ex slaves overcame the truth of being hunted

By the Klu Klux through the hedge maze

Dead bodies and lost property

But a sex-crazed frontiers been another dear friend

As the techs play x-rated cinema

At the thunderous pools

I could turn blubber to fuel with indigenous whalers

Hide in a chrysalis from shiftless janitors

At least they trust my performance count

Before I'm straight Elizabeth Taylor

And it's likekened

To despise when

The elders connect

In elsewhere

And elsewhen

But i spin trellis

So our motives know I'm spittin from the sunken relics like

AY Help them...

Help them

(Chorus)

All the things I left America to forget

Where my heart and mind didn't do

And art declined recurrent party lines

With the anchor of skin

Emotional tolerance and resilience of the young is cut paper thin

But don't weigh me in

With the flat of the blade and the butt of the gun to the gut of the son like