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wc-drs - the job fair lyrics
[verse:]
unemployed, unusable, pretty much useless, deployable
to a c.e.o. i be unitary bro, my sk!ll is mental, quite knowledgeable
but my temperament’s rising with mics, unlike your child-like thermometer
reacting the pressure, exerted on my inner barometer
ironic? that i specialize in ironies, logic, reasoning
standards literary, reading comprehension, grammar-n-z- -n-lyses and not tautologies? brah, your sh-t ain’t wurst
i have no g.e.d.’s, criminal background, overdue court fees
b-tch….pleaze, i don’t even drive while blacking out, never had a license to be
ill, for all i have few certificates and a h.s. degree
i have more experience in applications, to tell my pals who’s hiring
for helping me search for fairy-tale, not fair, job fair openings
just the other day, i saw an ese who had the part i applied for, honestly
whom probably took my place, after all he speaks espanol better than me
then i suddenly recalled the top the banner said “equal opportunity”
(scoffs), i knew that didn’t apply to my african “american dream”
so i had to run the gamut, of all the justified reasons i wasn’t worth qualifying
this time, basically is it my temper? sure, whenever i get no confirmed answer
on whether i had no callback, if what i wore was for the weather accordingly
what about how i dressed? but i didn’t wear any plaid white tees
shorts, khakis, beanies, hoodies, baggy pants, h-ll i always had the decency
to even roll up my god d-mn sleeves, though i was very weary worn out this outfit on every occasion, to always be ready for every precaution
you recall those contingencies? circ-mstantially taken to fit all-around in the overarching frame, to look picture perfect
for white amerikkkan society’s, -ssimilated imaging
was i too black on the outside, of the mold in their generalizing?
or was i too white inside, seeing the fear my skin was hiding?
little did they know on my exhausted time, i’m in casual wearing stereotypical clothing
actually, sitting on the living couch, flipping, through every tv stations
on dvr, wasting my entire life away, mom’s said to apply interests and make something
out of myself for me, not these nigorant hood f-cks or crackerjack peso machines
maybe wetbacks trying to sweat me, with trying to have a living while they working for free
and yet somehow that wasn’t working whatsoever
i could’ve better chances spent at working out in an l.a. fitness center
so i decided, to purchase a water gun, to stick up the center of the s.b.p.d
rejected constantly, the west coast gang lifestyle began to seem appealing
“f-ck tha police” soon became my own personal policy
held under the pistol, w/this e-40
sorry kendrick you failed, here in this county we have no gk-mcs’
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