curta - d.l.l.a. lyrics
i don’t have style and i don’t have bars i don’t have fashion and i don’t like cars i don’t have problems cause i don’t have a job but i don’t have money cause i don’t have a boss well i could be prophetic and pathetic in the same sentence watch the way i bend minds with just pen tips rap with the confidence of a dude who takes huge rips but when i’m alone i only ever kiddy sip i’m not hard kid just love this art sh-t bury me with bundles of it in my old apartment i’ll die like an artist i’m a simulacrum of the last rapper but i’m having more fun while remaining less dapper hope is david foster wallace dangling from porch rafters life is writing poems in my phone atop the cr-pper a product of my place and the status of my state propagating liberal guilt from a history of hate realistic like lips beneath the lipstick and the value of my kiss is just intrinsic i am not awake hi i’m not awake i am not awake this is the fake jake i guess i’ll die like an artist
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