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Little Death
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Lupe Fiasco
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1
[Verse 1: Lupe Fiasco]
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Now bring it out
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Like a finger in the back of your mouth
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Cherubs and cerebellum, Tara at Sarah's wedding
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Sam marrying Sam
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Band pushed upon the finger of Sam's hairiest hand
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If that sickens you, you a bigot
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If it doesn't well you're wicked
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Such is life
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Odd as Egg McMuffins at night
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No answers, so let us watch these dancers
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Structure reformed gracefully being born
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On the pallet of dark greys, concaves and spirals
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Kaleidoscope into a Eiffel
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It ripples then it tidals
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Vacillates then it virals
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Babylons then it Bibles and others
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And tell me of the spinning mothers
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And today's mathematics for beloved
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And beasts' bellies covered like the cummerbunds of butlers...
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[Hook 1: Nikki Jean]
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How was your day, can I make what you say
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What I wanna hear, cause I want you here
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The hell that we raised to the heavens do anything for
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La petite mort, la petite mort
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[Verse 2: Lupe Fiasco]
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They keep the bottles just to make glass houses
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Then climb up to the second floors and throw rocks out it
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Then expect not a volley in reply
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Some place vulnerable like prolly in the eye
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What of the chicken? what is it missin', is it dry?
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Did it die in some inhumane conditions so it didn't go relaxed
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And attention from its demise pulled all of the flavour from the fat
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And made it flat and rather lifeless
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Well there's a place that has a stunning turbot
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And more mercifully murdered Pisces
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But barbaric are still the prices
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It's rather niceless, apricot in dices and fromage slices
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My son will call risotto rices
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If and when he's left to his own devices, well
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How is your memory?
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Is it returning like a lemon tree
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To bear bitter fruit of what you meant to me
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Or was it slippin' like permission am I trippin' like Phil
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I feel I'm grippin' but maybe the transmission
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Still left out the life, also left out the will, grief
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Will cheese never touch your teeth
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Maybe like kosher beef
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Is it real, is it real, is it real
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Ha, hah!
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[Hook 2: Nikki Jean]
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Howl at the day can I make you my prey
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Cause I want you dear, ooh, I want you dear
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The hell that we raised to the heavens make symmetries/cemetaries for
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Our petite mort, our petite mort
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[Verse 3: Lupe Fiasco]
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So glad you're back, but not glad at that you're [?]
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Where is the glamour in collapse?
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Where in the shatter of the facts shoves one back to a pattern of stab wounds
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Swoon ridden goons consumed and driven mad soon
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The attended years slowly fills with baboons
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That other monkey business
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Where killers go free cause a junkie's a funky witness
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Runny mascaras from the cunning mask wearers of death
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Bygone errors, sittin' like two oil derricks
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Separated by a sea of cooling num nums
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Reminiscing of an every day playing hum drum
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Where recognition went unnoticed
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And then solidified till it was stoic
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We should've been poets
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Somewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of iambic pentameter
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[Hook 3: Nikki Jean]
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How are your chains, do they make you behave
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Keep you over here, by your overseer
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Fallen from grace down from heaven to memories floor
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La petite mort, la petite mort
Little Weapon (feat. Bishop G & Nikki Je...
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