Messages Matter

When I spit, the words they glisten Cause where I’m from, all the birds say Listen Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean? I don’t respond to emoticons or emotions, what a notion That your brainpan should do the locomotion And keypad a novel that coulda been just spoken My friends do this, they peg me with one-ways I got your message late, I was still in the subway And people, they don’t laugh anymore, they use acronyms To make their opinions known This is why I might stay home for the next couple weeks And retreat to my form of beats, rhymes and life I flip like the phone every single fucking night Jen Kenny, stop pushing those buttons all the time I used to be a baller, now I bring in my C-game Cause I know that my song is her screen name Now girls love to be photographed This is a fact that can’t be contested by the constraints of feminism in society It’s not that far from how everyone’s a DJ And how every single party is destined to be great My bulletin board is on the baller block Not the chopper, stop her from calling that holler talk To the dude with the nautical tattoos You know, played out outside, played out inside Stay out in nights of passion with streets of rage Whisper in my ear about the beats on stage And don’t blow me off like a dandelion, Mandy tried to Tell me that this DJ crew was incredibly, you know, hyphy I don’t really get what that means in the context But either way, let’s associate songs with sex And talk to me dirty like Russell, hustle ‘til my death date You make me wanna tussle with a bedframe Mic checka, style’s forward like Mike Peca Right ripped, tight lipped with high sticks up I met a girl in the States I wanted to pick up So I’m like ‘Baby, let me be your glowing puck?’ And she says ‘what the fuck’, but in terms of abbreviation That’s when I say my cell phone bill is a mess, hahahahaha But I get past stress through a keyboard press And meet girls on the internet that wanna get blessed Well, I met one the other day, and she was too hood to be true She was too good to be new…goods So I ran her through the scanner of my choice I held her like a banner for my boys I think she checks out like the Betty Ford, heady whores Mettle with my treble ‘till the bass is off the boards I face her at her core, a matron of the store Debase my space with grace, it’s just the pace that I abhor