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boy pierce - demo 2 (doorbells) كلمات الأغنية

[verse 1]

bp, rolling on your tape or cd
you can cc your peeps ’til you read read receipts
lease, own, neither i’m a grown
rent paying cat, rapping on his kitchen floor
listen your feeling it
saying he nostalgic, or he just a foul kid
with no originality
man i never doubted me
back home thanksgiving sitting in a small state
said my videos all great, wait
23% of people will appreciate
the other 77, you lucky if it be 7 seconds
of their attention, zero to no retention
despite packing my lines like fat people at delicatessens
i gotta get it, double lives i’m living
sacrifice to grab the mic should copyright my appet-te
megabyte, gigabyte, terabyte, tear the mic
like if jordan left chicago, my mind go zen
meditation, no medication, back to my floorboards
a break from the population
pals packing pens and vaping, pacing
laps outside the venue, i can do, i been to
too many bars in my life, so i regain my vision
when the start out i write
when the night gets sloppy and the pints get hoppy
i be hopping irish exiting to hop on my neccessities
sesame street, lessons be preached
on the streets of the new york pavement
i’m raising the stages
most days i just want a fine walk
wanna grab a speaker, take a seat upon the sidewalk
make a beat on the fly for the ladies that walk by
and do a new rap, they say who that?
rapping on a park bench with a coffee cup
don’t stare sonny boy, bet he awfully nuts
off my rocker, never rocked roccawear
never got not prepared, never not dropping rare
golden nuggets, i spit verse in public
but new yorkers move by, only catching two lines
i work at a pace commuters envy
running to they train, close computers in a frenzy
i work ten hours then i work ten hours
take a stand on your seat, if i fail it’s on me
making a vision the b-ss it collisions i’m living
everything i thought about i take you on a walkabout
penning things, spending weeks sending links
yet they keep asking bp, “when will we see a wedding ring?”
i say i got priorities in tact
i think my ex girls were just sorry that i rapped
it’d be cool when they meet me, then realize i don’t tv
or have the time for movie, or call myself a foodie
i’m moving, jobs and apartments and cities
opening, closings, foreclosures and shifting
opening loads of new roads and committing
opening shows with dope flows always hitting
listening to chris ten years back remixing tracks in my bedroom
balancing the headroom
didn’t know i’d be opening for him
i was probably at dive bar toasting up a gin
mind uncluttered, i’m an unsigned non clubber
club soda drinker and a young yoda thinker
upload and tinker all my acapellas
you can cop ’em fellas
make a remix, reward yourself, hit taco bell up
what’s he talking ’bout?
i would rather see his tributes issues so this whole song i skip through
but the real rap cats maybe give respect
then bp’s back to his kitchenette

- boy pierce

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