[Intro: Safari Al]
You know it's on the low, low, low
You know it's on low

[Verse 1: milo]
If you can't name the ache, then I guess I don't believe you
How's it my fault if your soul is see through?
How's it your fault if your soul is see through?
Why do I have all these organs?
Why am I so high in Oregon?
A conception of inside seems more important
What's necessary or sufficient about gorgeous?
The superstition implores us
It's not enough to write a rap song
I should hire a choir of black moms
To reprimand me if I act wrong

I nominate you to hide all my evil parts
Don't go snooping around the lots where seedy people park
That's a clumsy factoid from a bummy black boy
If a dummy act coy he could stumble to his death

[Verse 2: Safari Al]
A patch of dust in the sandlot
Under a sun spot
Bumping, sicking, clocking under a sun spot
Grunting, kicking, backing
Cost to find the finer point in principle
A coal miner, total minor
Major bummer, majoring in plumber
Just a coal miner, plumb liner
Of rented property, if rented properly
It becomes yours