Ass Backwards - Rav, Open Mike Eagle

I apologize before I ever even fuck up

This my lullaby (R-A-V!)

I’m ass-backwards

Everything I do is haphazard, ayy

Ass-backwards

The type to cry now and laugh after, ayy

These days, I don’t look forward when I move

Could turn a gift into a curse, a pretty bow into a noose

I’m on the come-up but a downer, feeling lonesome and obtuse

The irony is that I hate you, yet I hope that you improve

No longer am I prone to letting loose

So don’t invite me to your parties or I’m spoilin' the mood

I’m known to be the dude posted in the corner of the room

Starin' at his fuckin' phone, never knowin' what to do

Okay, you get it: I’m a bummer

Type to sweat through coldest winters and then shiver during summers

Say I do shit for the love, but feel embittered by my numbers

My complainin' honesty could throw a cricket into slumber or a coma or a grave

Wake up in the mornin', feeling mortified each day

Hope has become foreign, gotta fortify my brain (Brain)

Sizin' what’s in store through the stories I’ve obtained

My mind keeps pouring when it rains

Falling all the time (For the same)

Awkward thoughts of mine (Every day)

I apologize before I ever even fuck up

This my lullaby

I’m ass-backwards

Everything I do is haphazard, ayy (One-two)

Ass-backwards (Check, one-two, one-two)

The type to cry now and laugh after, ayy

These are my last four tokens

I wanted more but they foreboding

The game’s closed, but the door opened

The back-porch poet delivered it short-notice

Morse-code it

The Lord knows it’s fuck them and the horse they rode in on

Of course they owned Enron

I blow up with the force of an N-bomb

It’s my Freudian symptom

I whistle like the Scorpions' hit song

I’m hitting X with the button stick and

This way coming is something wicked

And 'tis the season for pumpkin gimmicks

I need a basket for wastepaper

A secret package with tastemakers

Cabinet bracket space-saver

I operate on an eighth-acre

And I’m raising a frickin' eighth-grader

I’m on Android like James Spader

They praised luck in the race

Labor for rectangular-shaped paper

Fallin' all the time (For the same)

Awkward thoughts of mine (Every day)

I apologize before I ever even fuck up (R-A-V)

It’s my lullaby

I’m ass-backwards

Everything I do is haphazard, ayy

Ass-backwards

The type to cry now and laugh after, ayy