charles hamilton - sour times two lyrics
“where the love go?!” sh-t. where the bud go? i don’t really roll, but i just rolled. dying in laughter. a crying disaster, because i am who i’m after. everybody discarded me (r-t-rdedly), then i find out i was wrong. so guard the beat. if there’s still love in the air, “can i put a little bud in the air?” hug me for years. i’m sick and f-cking tired of tears. i pick up a tire and… here. as in, drive. as in, wind time. as in, “i’ve been winted…” i’m sorry. as in, “i’ve been winded in wintertime.” i forget. it’s winter’s time. then, i dine. and then (maybe), some chick who’s really f-cking stupid would wine (wind). to this sh-t
“we could really get it on!
we could really get it on!
we could really get it on!
we could really get it o-o-on!”
’cause n-body loves me
except you
who’s me
so me
and you
let’s do
what it do!
i have fans. they put the candles out. so now, i am what i stand about. “those” are my fans. and “those” are my friends. frozen hands and frozen limbs, while i give myself a hug in a mental ward. no straightjacket, either. sh-t. that’s dinner for ya! lock(ed) myself up, like “help us!” then i get help from chuck (my other side). but f-ck the other side, it’s just us tonight. and i’ma ride, until i die. and i am obsessed with suicide, so “why lie?” the sh-t isn’t magick, so “wahlah!” (the) devil wears prada. and i like shopping at thrift stores. “ma?! n-gg-s wanna get me fly! then they flew me out to london. now… get me, while i die!”
“we could really get it on!
we could really get it on!
we could really get it on!
we could really get it o-o-on!”
’cause n-body loves me
except you
who’s me
so me
and you
let’s do
what it do!
can i get a hug? because for show and tell, i f-cking brought in a little bug. i didn’t. i’m lying. cray. or, uncray. just depends on how you play. i’m frying. and that “little bug” was my self-esteem. p-ssed it to all those b-tches who were helping me love me more. “i’m ugly, you wh-r-!” “i’m lovely, you wh-r-!” you see that click? yo. you see that sh-t?! i ain’t on no beeyatch sh-t, but i’m -scratching- like three rashes. and i’m not on some dj sh-t, you beeyatches. all i know is i’m nice when i… spit. mad syllables. and, i’m mad lyrical. toss all them sh-t(s) out the air. toss ’em out the room. i’m the one who’s expecting doom from a womb…
“we could really get it on!
we could really get it on!
we could really get it on!
we could really get it o-o-on!”
’cause n-body loves me
except you
who’s me
so me
and you
let’s do
what it do!
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