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Looptroop - Postcards Looptroop - Postcards |
*** Autor textu: Promoe | head out the door like before pick my things off the floor go on tour after tour with a huge ass bag that can't fit my love what a useless bag, man it can't fit my love there i go again repeating myself and i'm deceiving myself till i believe in myself that i need something else jeopardizing my health looking, looking, looking for something, but i really can't tell what it is, what it was, and again shall be maybe it shifted through the years and i'm stuck in the dream that i had as a teenager rappin ass fiend now with all this stress around me i can't recognize me so i, pick up the phone and a bad connecdon and a low battery does little to hide the thought that we miles apart and it drives my heart insane tryin to start to explain all in vain but i'm savin...
what should i write
pick up the pen don't know where to begin it goes... i miss you I well it's true but it's lame, ain't no words to explain
how can i tell you
how much i miss you
cus the words have been used and abused for so long they don't mean nothing, no more to no one and specifically not us we're thinkin about stuff a little bit too much with our critical outlook that kind of makes us depressed and when it aches in our chests we're desperately lookin, lookin for ways to express our deepest emotions, but somebody stole 'em sold 'em back to us perverted, distorted that's why, when i tell you i love you, you can't hear i wanna tell you to trust me forever, but i don't dare cus the words have been used and abused for so long i can't relate to their hate don't want it in your song cus if love is a burger from a fastfood chain if love is some bling on a fat goldchain then the blood must be freezing in my ice cold veins and what i feel for you must be that thing called hate
(and it's not, so what the fuck..,)
what should i write
what the fuck should i write yo
i miss you
well it's true but it's lame, ain't no words to explain
how can i tell you
how much i miss you
then when i finally come home after weeks alone, rhyming on the phone from the studio in gothen and writing little poems on postcards and pieces of paper from japan and amsterdam i'm half a man when i greet you like we a four legged, two headed creature separated from ea-chother in an earlier life to be complete i must make sure this girl be my wife and it's easier said than done but this love accident ain't no hit and run i coulda stay right here till the police come though this ain't that kind of movie so them fools get none and it ain't no hollywood ending either she's not a girl with a gucci, prada or fendi fever it's real characters of real flesh and blood who fight, hurt, make up and shit, sweat and love (and miss eachother like hell...)
what should i write
with all our imperfect perfections
i miss you
how can i tell you
how much i mďss you |
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Billy Barman:
Hocus Pocus:
Funkdoobiest:
Ace:
Crew:
