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song about a raygunn (an ode to driver) - milo lyrics

you are at the top of a short
i wrote the list around your placement on the list
you are on the list most importantly

i don’t even really have to rap
my n-gg-, it’s about if you can talk good

it’s about if you can work a simple hustle
turning rap insights into economic muscle
ride the bourgeois crystal like surfboard
no handles, my n-gg- til we dirt poor

so we do the math and we always carry clipboards
do the math and we always carry clipboards

i’m trying to strip myself myself and be mirror for someone else
i’m trying to strip myself myself

i don’t even really have to rap
my n-gg-, it’s about if you can talk good

he raps like there’s no sense to be made
he raps like the eldest sap of the everglade
his raps move heat like thermastats adjusting centigrades
he raps with the grace of an old man shining his grandson’s shoes
he raps like a master painter who’s only choosing to use the blues
he reportedly raps in a dark apartment quarterly, cold heartedly
clutching the recorder to catch the nuzzled portions of organs he’d been choking on
when he raps everyone everywhere is always electrified
and no one would really mind if they were next to die
he only raps for a good reason, and getting rich isn’t one of those
he scribbles raps furiously from a little bungalo, i’ve been there

i feel inclined to rhyme, i’m so inclined
(matters of process, become matters in place)

- milo lyrics

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