Thursday, August 27, 2015

"Experience" Lyrics

Hover over bold text to read notes.
"Experience"

It was a normal day, I lit a cigarillo counterfeiter and smoked the pain away
My album will be done soon
My lyrics woven florid into my chosen festoon
 I try to write intelligent so
 to inhibit the dumb down of generation
Look in dictionary you might happen past what you're looking for

Who's this rapping tapping at my chamber door?

{Ahh hello mellow Robinson is it?
I feel we have a problem, so I've come to pay you a visit
We're a government agency, paid by your taxes
We spend our time making the airwaves dumb enough for the masses
We can't give them music that will promote thought
Then we'd have informed population, that's not what we want
So yeah, I guess that's where the problem is at
To put it simply, your words are too complex and lax 
(Hey where you going)}
Fore they got to shaking tails licky split flat
I run through the kitchen and barge out the back
I take a wing gait out the terrace and down the promenade I made with induced retruding of muricated boscage and nomination of a stepping stone with loss of moss stain
I glance abaft amidst the task and spy the ignorant iconoclasts pursue my droit absquatulation in my mind I quote an observation:
"Every man for himself, and the devil takes the hindmost"
As I plan for myself the level steps to get the sign post in the grip of my digits to swing my mass up out the gorge  
I find myself on side of road I've never seen before
Left of me are businesses and I take haste
I don't look back I know I'm being chased


A passerby sends me censure in her glance of my avolation 
I still scurry swiftly but she thinks me contumacious  
Myself I ask an inner query: "why and what's the cause of this pursuit?"
I rationalize no answer while I'm jogging past the lube
I pass the petrol pumps parading a precarious personal pother prance
I Maraud the margins for a marvel maze or meadow aft a Manor or manse 
I find no hope my lungs exploding damn you nicotine
Pass alleyways and all are blocked by dumpsters fences in between
My legs stumble, and the men are on my back
Flash of light, all is black
Mellow Robinson

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