When I was alone
I stepped up to the auction block
Cleared my throat, I was like, dig, uh-huh
I'm the type I'm slave you buy if, uh, you, uh, need a new master
I could wrap the blues backwards and around myself
Tied in the front like a karate belt
Then high kick the moon out it's socket
All my good times was pursued outta pocket
Might step inside and out the pocket
Don't tiptoe 'round devils
Guess that bet's settled, disheveled
Voice scratchin' like wet metals
There's all these selves inside myself
And we rode on, and we rode on
And we rode on, and we rode on
When I was alone
There's all these selves inside myself
And we rode on (when I was alone)
Uh, yeah
Mind mired in diamond fire
Star-fed corrupter with the wide-arching tractor beams
Very difficult not reacting to things
Especially the ones that aren't happening
If it all becomes description, why does the problem persist?
Political spectrum be Sprite or Sierra Mist, it's disgusting
Robust hustling isn't the answer, but it's all I know
Suddenly wise, enveloped in green screens
Smokescreens and nerve-racked suspicion of a newer song
Afterwards dancing
My hair is curling in anticipation of my own wild gardening
Hot commodity, dada prodigies
You know the answer isn't rapping
You know the answer isn't rapping
You know the answer isn't rapping
But let's listen to another song
