Yeah
[Verse 1: Harry Mack]
They told me
Go ahead, say what you say, but it better take less than four minutes
Cause we need radio play
Four minutes or less, well tell me what that shit means
When Black Thought sits next to Flex, and goes fifteen
I’m bout to write a half hour song, like Miles on Bitches Brew
And inexplicably get as rich as you
I guess I mean to say I’m just tryna offer a different view
Spit some shit you actually have to sit down and listen to
What a novel idea, a whole genre appears
That only really sounds dope after six bottles of beer
When you’re at the club creeping, touching on women
If you only listen when you’re drunk, then I don’t trust your opinion
The masses are asses, you’ve heard it before
Well I feel the masses get passes they don’t deserve anymore
Well you aren’t all savages, crass, classless, murderers, whores
Are they extracted from the masses if a person is pure?
They told me
We as a whole control the trends of the day
And that’s why intelligence tends to descend and decay
And all the vivid colors of life are rendered as grey
But we’re all just individuals at the end of the day
So there’s no masses without you, or me, or my mother
Or Kelly, or my big sister Lucy, and I love her
Or Brady, or Saddam Mou Hursch, that’s my brother
I won’t speak for them, but I feel we all learned a lot from each other
I stand naked, hold my soul as it bleeds
Then they run off and form opinions while they scroll through a feed
And cross reference with articles that Facebook told them to read
Well I refuse to be another blind soldier they lead
I refuse to pull the wool down and surrender my whole brain
Refuse to throw my hands high and stand by while my soul’s slain
Refuse to let them steer, pull me out of my own lane
They asked me why, I told them Nazir and John Coltrane
Shakespeare and Kurt Cobain, James Yancey and Monk
And many more whose examples taught me I can’t be a punk
Not to mention my aunts and my uncles, my grandmas and such
Said if it’s a march against ignorance, I should stand at the front
Low tolerance for art, high standards for junk
New jam of the month from pornographic ad banners to Pump
Amateur stunt, alley-oop slam dunk, from Bannon to Trump
And we all stand with our iPhone cameras up
[Verse 1: Harry Mack]
They told me
Go ahead, say what you say, but it better take less than four minutes
Cause we need radio play
Four minutes or less, well tell me what that shit means
When Black Thought sits next to Flex, and goes fifteen
I’m bout to write a half hour song, like Miles on Bitches Brew
And inexplicably get as rich as you
I guess I mean to say I’m just tryna offer a different view
Spit some shit you actually have to sit down and listen to
What a novel idea, a whole genre appears
That only really sounds dope after six bottles of beer
When you’re at the club creeping, touching on women
If you only listen when you’re drunk, then I don’t trust your opinion
The masses are asses, you’ve heard it before
Well I feel the masses get passes they don’t deserve anymore
Well you aren’t all savages, crass, classless, murderers, whores
Are they extracted from the masses if a person is pure?
They told me
We as a whole control the trends of the day
And that’s why intelligence tends to descend and decay
And all the vivid colors of life are rendered as grey
But we’re all just individuals at the end of the day
So there’s no masses without you, or me, or my mother
Or Kelly, or my big sister Lucy, and I love her
Or Brady, or Saddam Mou Hursch, that’s my brother
I won’t speak for them, but I feel we all learned a lot from each other
I stand naked, hold my soul as it bleeds
Then they run off and form opinions while they scroll through a feed
And cross reference with articles that Facebook told them to read
Well I refuse to be another blind soldier they lead
I refuse to pull the wool down and surrender my whole brain
Refuse to throw my hands high and stand by while my soul’s slain
Refuse to let them steer, pull me out of my own lane
They asked me why, I told them Nazir and John Coltrane
Shakespeare and Kurt Cobain, James Yancey and Monk
And many more whose examples taught me I can’t be a punk
Not to mention my aunts and my uncles, my grandmas and such
Said if it’s a march against ignorance, I should stand at the front
Low tolerance for art, high standards for junk
New jam of the month from pornographic ad banners to Pump
Amateur stunt, alley-oop slam dunk, from Bannon to Trump
And we all stand with our iPhone cameras up
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