r.a.p. ferreira – bobby digital’s little wings lyrics
caramel toffees
look at that bobby, digital in the lobby
shout out to bobby digital
ay, dog, ruby yacht
what else we gon’ do now? we gon’ do somethin’ nice and simple. it is? that’s my religion too. alright, we gon’ do, i’m gon’ do a poem now, the title is hallelujah, i learned jazz
dark openly, gamma rays washed over me
fidgets with hidden crest
the fickle house guest giving heartfelt thanks
titanic sank ’cause black people weren’t allowed on it
how’s that for power?
spirits get hungry and credentials get devoured
halfway there, they feelin’ laissez+faire
personally, i’m more hands on, stand strong
as a late evening doppio
long face at the supermercado
merryment stammer lopside
coded messages on gamma ferric oxide
i’m a terrorist with a mock mai tai
blissed out on the sunset
askin’ my son, are you having fun yet?
he grins loudly, how his granny did
we be black as some mission figs
flourishing future to past
and that’s what the mission is
remain unashamed to be sensitive
as such is the first stage of vigilance
as such is the first stage of vigilance
as such is the first stage of vigilance
to be sensitive, dig
[sample]
two weeks after turning 19, i gave birth to my firstborn, my son. four months later, i had my first panic attack. i remember lying down, i remember putting my son down, unable to catch my breath
ashy as my turban is
bad mood, citing atmospheric disturbances
detritus and oil fields
place littered with human shields
hosts for delinquents
i’m just tryin’ to remember the next pose in the sequence
six four and my back hurts
mixmaster wrote the passwords
known for choppin’ samples and evading capture
obnoxious laughter, jazz and rapture
a structured approach to letting go
coached from your very own stereo
[sample]
chest feeling so tight and just lying on the bed crying. certain i’m fast about to die
[sample]
the spring cricket considers the question of negritude
i was playing my tunes all by myself;
i didn’t know anybody else
who could play along
sure, the tunes were sad—
but sweet too and wouldn’t come
until the day gave out: you know
that way the sky has of dangling
her last bright wisps? that’s when
the ache would bloom inside
until i couldn’t wait; i knelt down
to scr+pe myself clean
and didn’t care who heard
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