[Red the Supergiant]
Yo
Little rock spinning, big shots grinning
Trick plots, tight knots, ain’t got a tittle of a winning
Cold hands plead cold shoulders
We all bleed
And smolder slowly
Peeps sure get holy war to pocket guacamole
Boldly claim our kings, who sings for the lowly?
Land of the roly polys
Of thee I sing
Heat blocks, sling rocks, so you can cop some bling
If your left or right wing you ain’t got wings
You’re only getting lesser if you halve things
Need mass appeal not mass appeal
Basking in masked tasks asking if it’s real
In case I don’t see you, welcome to the Truman show
Some say he fronts dark like a Newman-O
What’s wrong with a different photon?
When will the color blind lead the blind, when we’re gone
Ain’t that some shit
Drool
Ain’t that some spit?
But you’ll never catch him snoozing
Beat bruising till he’s a poster child like Drew Struzan
It’s not for they’re amusement
Talking bout a monkey suit
Talking bout the dung he threw
Bud, he bust a bummy sleuth
Buddy not a buddy oops
When will it end?
When we stop making pretend