I Guess​.​.​.

from by Tay Sean

  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Limited edition LP on opaque white vinyl with original artwork by Tay Sean.

    via HomeSkillet Records

    Includes unlimited streaming of Leavings via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 1 day
    edition of 200 

      $25 USD or more 

     

  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Limited edition LP on opaque white vinyl with original artwork by Tay Sean.

    Limited edition mala prayer bead necklace of coral, agate and seashell with blue goldstone pendant set in a bullet casing hand-engraved by Nick Galanin.

    via HomeSkillet Records

    Includes unlimited streaming of Leavings via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 1 day
    edition of 12 

      $175 USD or more 

     

lyrics

Unanointed, self-appointed
Kings of clones, charicatures
Feeble hoes unfit to serve
The weekest thrones, from which you perch
Each his poems more sick than yours
No medicines, no instant cures
No hex, no hymn can't life the curse
You'd better get some different swerve
Irreverent and immature,
The excrement your lips procure
A rhetoric of simps, and surely
Eloquence has skipped your turn
Your temperament is insecure
Attention, yes, a bitch's thirst
You represent a wicked work
Of benefit to misters, sirs
Swallow all the shit they serve
Follow just the simplest urges
Life's a bitch, who hit it first?
You'll never get what's in her purse

Your gang is just some strength in numbers
Your game? Ages 8 and under
You're lame and unimpressive lover
Your cake never stretchin rubber
Your drugs is just your fashion statement
Your thug? An exaggeration
Your love the same as masturbation
Your raps lack imagination
Your image is some movie actin
Your niche is in a beauty pageant
Your bitch is an aspiring ratchet
Your snitchin, an undying habit

Your social life is a popularity contest
At best

Your dope and vices a constant therapy process
Jah bless

And they claim that they ascended, I'm offended
Cuz what they represented wasn't sevens
And they say they stay suspended, they pretendin (that aint fly)
We all in the same dimension, they forgettin (but we try)

Pseudo-swaggin, quasi-posi
Pundits of the posin
The public's spoken
Babylon's incumbents have been chosen
Ya aint never bossy, anti-flossy
Fakers of the funk
Just flavors of the month
Cuz youza dranker of the punch, ooh

Your persona is a parody
Your ego is embarrassing
Your ethos is of pharisees
Your credo lacks sincerity
Your steelo don't compare to heem
Your intellect, a barren tree
Your pimpin is a charity
Your bitch is always where we be
Your loyalty is a bandwagon
Your friendship is a transaction
Your poems are personal me parties
Your turn up is a tea party

Your all good is a falsehood in the flesh,
A mess

I guess that's what they callin fresh,
I guess

Does the shoe fit?
What's the movement?
Where they do this?
Is this the new shit?

credits

from Leavings, released September 20, 2016

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Tay Sean Seattle, Washington

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