There’s so much fakeness,
I’m starting to doubt what’s real.
To see someone clothed and smiling
simply feels surreal.
We’ve evolved from snakeoil through photoshop
to filled up lips and one stop shops,
and so many say the jig is up
then they join the crowd with a custom
but everyone else is doing it,
and there’s no where else to find this,
and this is my only exception, it’s not,
I’m giving it all that I’ve got, are you?
To quote Kendrick Lamar,
show me something natural
like ass with some stretch marks.
I add, show me something actual
like proof that you work hard.
Does everything that comes and goes
have to make you feel smart?
Pick yourself a slice of cake
and tell the world that part.
’cause I’ve been mixing crazy eights
I’ve got no repercussions in sight,
all my ducks are in a row
and now I’m boarding my flight,
but everything I used to see
is blurring
without glasses
that had me focused on my own view,
and if I can’t tell that ass is real
my instinct is to disown you.
How am I to lead an open life if I can’t welcome
everything that you could be in any given moment,
maybe it’s not up to me to help you fell asleep at night
’cause I’m tossin’ in my sheets when I can’t tell my own left from right.