Prompt / Lyrics
yeah Keep it movin’. If you came here to ask me about the weather — you better pray I don’t forecast the truth. Every “how are you” feel like a trap. Every fake smile feel like a slap. Small talk tastes like drywall — dry, hollow, built to crack. I ain’t built for surface tension, I dive deep or I disappear. You talkin’ barbecues and birthdays while I’m tryin’ not to scream in mirrors. Shake hands like I didn’t think twice about at the kindness in your grip. Compliments land like bear traps — I step light, I don’t slip. Small talk feels like plastic silverware. I ain’t got air for pleasantries. Say what you mean or run it back through your bullshit scheme — I don’t do half-soul tendencies. You don’t really want my truth — you just want your awkward silence gone. So I play polite with real worth in my mouth, smilin’ like nothin’s wrong. I’ve been dodging fake convos like debt collectors with soft voices. Asking me ‘bout my day like I had options… like I had choices. Talkin' ‘bout “crazy weather,” but my mind’s a tornado . Every word you drop feels scripted — I see your prompts in your watch. I’m not rude, I’m just allergic to anything that ain’t raw. I don’t do filters or force laughs — I say “thats fine,” but I mean “lets light this one up.” I don’t make paper cuts, I do blunt force honesty. Don’t check in if you ain’t stayin’ — don’t knock if you fear what’s haunting me. I ain’t anti-social — I’m anti-fake, anti-performative rain. So if all you got is banter? Then I’m out, simple and plain. I’ve got eye contact that says “don’t.” A voice that skips small print. You want cute, light, digestible? Try someone who still sugarcoats their lint. I’m the silence that punches. The stare that lingers too long. Don’t ask me what’s new — I’ve been bleeding in the same song. Small talk feels like I'm to cold. Smile tight, like I might snap. Keep it casual, keep it clean — I keep my triggers in my lap. You can sip on shallow comfort — I’ll be here spitting kerosene. Lighting every lie with vibrance, 'cause my truth don’t need a scene. So skip the script — come real or don’t come at all. Cuz this ain’t small talk, baby… this is me speaking in tongue waiting for my haters, To accept their fall. I don’t make paper cuts, I do blunt force honesty. Don’t check in if you ain’t stayin’ — don’t knock if you fear what’s haunting me.. You don’t really want my truth.
Tags
Post grunge trap, experimental rap, do wop
Duration
3:50
Instrumental
No
Created
6/5/2025