[Chorus]

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 chore

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

[Verse 1]

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

[Chorus]

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 chore

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

[Verse 2]

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 class 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 harass 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

[Chorus]

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 chore

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

[Verse 3]

Ok, I might rap, whatever, might as well medicate

Myself with this false sense of accomplishment

“Oh, you made a rap album? Wow! Good for you! That’s great!”

Except nobody 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 crap! 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 homosapien

If nothing else, my rap is mine and no one’s taking it

[Outro]

I want to rap. I want to rap. I want to rap. I want to rap…

Ok, well, you got it