LetraThe Writer

Chance the Rapper

Última atualização em: 29 de outubro de 2020
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Garima Arora sugeriu alterações para esta letra.

Niggas try to come at me and shit like On some like, I only write slow songs And I only write... church and How many of y'all are fucking with me with a pen, period? I'm a writer, probably as good as Elton John But whats writing good for if it ain't helping moms? I'm tryna feed Japan while seeing sights of Lebanon And wiping away tears of girls that's getting felted on I'm tryna get my felt pen on but the block is hot My hands is questioning if I'm bach or not If I'm 2Pac or nonexistent to these juggernauts But I'm a architect an astronaut an argonaut So hey, you, get off my couch You don't know me stay the fuck out my mouth But I'm a writer you can quote it out loud A false poet get my dough and I'm out But here's an eighth of shrooms for your earlobe A little rap wrapped in cigarillo A little bit of Wu-Tang, mixed with some Henry David Thoreau A little ponder theory you can ponder on your pillow But this is for the day that your dad dies Puffin' some reason all you hearing is sad sighs You searchin' for nostalgia but sad and you can't cry So you check your iPod in search for some bad vibes From that rap guy, who raps over sad vibes I wrote it in an hour dawg, don't know what your dads like He probably was a great dad, he's probably in paradise You want deeply in heartbreak and sadly I can't write, nothing This is for those who wrote suicide notes And all the hipster girls that was super fly dope You looking at her nose what you do besides coke You looking at her palms what you do besides dope Nothing, life is but a supersized note I open up my mind like suicide door And grab a pimp cane and a superfly coat Have they bobbing they heads to something stupid I wrote I hope

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Sincronizada porSicelo Bright Thabethe
Traduzido porSantos Salvador

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