Dirty Paint Brushes Lyrics

Throw the 7 it's an 8

I ate

Still hungry, a vulture, my culture didn't set my demons straight

A prey

Vulnerability consolidated

I'm validated by your love, if Father never reciprocate it

Sleep on it, listen, just sleep on it

Don't stay awake for quarrels, when you can dream bout it

Sleep state, clean slate, I always fiend for it

Solitude, worst kind, but there's a niche for it

Quarter pours, half for it, whole wars, oh my god

How you gon say you the victim, you neglected bloody sword

Big storm, I feel it

Go get your kicks on

So we can kick on

Suppressor for the Nixon

You go frame it real good

Rule of thirds, bitch

And you go frame our kin a crook

Rule usurped, bitch

You got served, still

Force the hand to kill

Flash a smirk, back to work

Pops popping off the sun bill

Will be ill, daytime, ill will

A transaction, willingly take a bad deal

The culture big hustle, big vision, big bustle

Yet a blind eye, sap you single, take it double

Banh mi killer

Deadly

Like blossoms in Japan

A land far away, like Chengdu's hands

Homogenous

They write the script, boi

Regardless, we gon get it back in racks boi

Head low, and toil

What she always say

Deeply unfulfilled

I know, deep down it's vacancy

Am I a poser posing for the wrong cameras

Am I still refusing the light, zero aperture

The dreamer lusts for darkness

Am I too late to shake off bliss

Or can stop it just in time like Muscala didn't stop Mo Harkless

Yeah

And we both so heartless, saying

Romance

Father ain't assist, never put me on game

My father father barely cared enough, hide shame

Blame the game, not the player who's in guilty pain

When the whole game twisted, the refs paid

We didn't learn losing was a part of trophy case

Like vulnerability was part of love, losing face

Like sincerity was part of hate, tender blaze

The timer only gives you one shot to love your dame

I'm conflicted

Hope I don't taste fame, or the digits, or the

So our dirty laundry won't be washed, no stitches

But we tight knit

And in this tight knit, no room for hypocrisy, or the silence

Deep shadows, shrouding all our lying

To ourselves, don't seem to care, don't bother prying

The stoicism, is generational hiding

The diaspora, paint brushes, and we vibrant

The imagery, offensive, and it's violent

The sounds, heartbreaking, tears crying

The sacrifice, Christ-like, but we living

Only thing I'd sell my death for, that's a given

Promise