Are You... Can You... Were You? (Felt)

it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
i woke up to it, heavy, alight with trueness
always a way of losin', compelled to knew it
my body traveled, my mind waits behind the music
my crime bemuses, "relax inside my shiny blueness."
time: i understand it, but i never choose it
i cant explain it with words, i have to do it
the ship I came here on vanished
we automatic, don't try to plan it
but shit, just when it comes, handle it
behind the lessons, miles beneath the slick dressin'
niggas is stressin'.
'bout shit they should be sure they guessin'.
i twirl it cool and peer the rear view
cause they are arrestin'.
though rich in suit and chinese slippers,
i'm stil impressive up on the racks
old school cat from way back
gave'm my milk, cuz he now wipin' off (that's my impression.)
he asked me, "how you float all sharp and always have a fresh one,
and seem to know the answer to the most proverbial questions?"
i told him, "why, i'm gonn' ask ya..."
swirled it in a book of sketches--
i find the diamonds underneath the subtlest inflections.
ha aw, dude...
the spicier the food: when you chew, fuck they rules.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
it's a feeling.
that's...that's...
that's somethin' fresh
that's somethin' fresh
nonetheless, nonetheless
rhymin' in the Felt, in the Felt
at a tender age we learned to turn the page
to mind the screen and stage, to see who got the glaze
to hustle up or fade
either get made or play
find your spot in the shade,
and nigga get paid.
so we internalize that, but then we customize that
ride the relationship between where our ground and our sky's at
i slowed it down once, everyone was goin' fast
so? so i sped up, cause i ain't one to reach the end last
MORPH
to where the grimy sparkles amongst the shiny talkers
the pistol poppers that made pretty noise and get them dollars
and while the world watches, we sent our street scholars
to bust some presidents in hundred thousand dollar watches
some of the feds got us--some of us dead--lotta us.
still solid, though
usin' all the licks the streets taught us
and what that heat cost us, and what that loss gave us
fucking with the people is always gonna come back around.
big movements from below
the golden age lies ahead
struck ghost: proceed.
you can't lie to yourself
to yourself, you can't lie how it felt
no surprise how the cards gettin' dealt,
that's why i won't be back for a long time.