e m p t y p r o m i s e s
by d o u b t
About this track
Co produced by Gregory Litman-Navarro LYRICS -- I think i found A happy medium once. Sparked another blunt, and lost it Now i dont know what i want. I sit in the front Shotgun, with my shotgun. Just in case a phantom Mad dog me at the function. I ain't frontin These lyrics, they mean nothin' I just kinda like to Hear myself talk Stream of conscious thought Dick in an unconscious thot Stream of conscious thought ...unconscious thought *motto of the day, fuck a ho let a bitch rot* Theories fraught With holes in the logic Burned by my caustic Flow spit chaotic. A neurotic, Robotic, product of modest parents. Never losing hope Even when their boy was wild’n out. Pound for pound, I never seen a brick of coke. And they keys on my keyboard Probably ain’t what you talkin’ ‘bout. *fuck boi, just a minute, you's a lame, i'm insane* Its all a facade Prescription glasses made of pyrex. Keep my eyes peeled So i can quickly spot a pretext. Complex methods I use to skew ethics. The soul i lost, Replaced by something synthetic. Spread wide Like the shot from a blunderbuss Split personality Two bottles of robo-tuss. The mother fucking walrus With a burner made of fairy dust. Two tabs of acid And a lot of empty promises.