Tag: Steve Jobs


Open Mike Eagle – Hymnal (feat. Sammus)




[Intro: Open Mike Eagle]
So. . . sleepy
When I snap my fingers

[Verse 1: Open Mike Eagle]
To thine own self, be felt-tip
Hip as a belt clip
With a helmet fit for helpless feels
If you can help it
Reassess the unarmed
Leave refreshed and unharmed
Bring milk and honey to the funny farm
See the rest become charmed dumb
"An apple a day," what apple sellers say
I was brought into this world with the instinct to back the hell away
And the will to write a rap song as long as an Alaskan day
To fight to balance those two feels is a personal passion play
But so what?
Flying fucks is thrown at rolling doughnuts
My feet is cold, but so what?
Cause I’m bold enough to show up
I– what’s the hold up-
-side down, ketchup bottle speed
Uncoordinated, running with pigeon toes and knobby knees
God damn it, folks will follow me
Bucket of random body parts
Master of the sloppy arts
Like Kindergartners trying to be done
Big dumb-dumb trying to fly to the sun
I’m dried up and look at what I have become

[Chorus: Open Mike Eagle]
Sing it like a church song
Like a old-time prayer from a dead man written on a notebook
Draw with a ink pen
Like it doesn’t even matter if it go, god damn it, it’s the first time
Make it like a mistake
Sing it like a church song
Written when the shit wasn’t going right
Sing it like it don’t hurt
Like it can’t break
Like it’s this big

[Bridge]
I ain’t no chili pepper
I ain’t got mama’s gun
I ain’t in Evanescence
I ain’t in All-4-One
I got a dumb agenda
Can’t even make a plan
If you remember the moment come here and shake my hand
I ain’t no chili pepper
I ain’t got mama’s gun
I ain’t in Evanescence
I ain’t an awful one
I got a dumb agenda
Can’t even make a plan
If you remember the moment come here and shake my hand

[Chorus: Open Mike Eagle]
Sing it like a church song
Like a old-time prayer from a dead man written on a notebook
Draw with a ink pen
Like it doesn’t even matter if it go, god damn it, it’s the first time
Make it like a mistake
Sing it like a church song
Written when the shit wasn’t going right
Sing it like it don’t hurt
Like it can’t break
Like it’s this big

[Verse 3: Sammus]
I’d rather be hiding alone like some Ewoks
Up in tree tops
Creeping around like I’m T-Boz
Steeping the grounds in my teapots
But I’m Steve Jobs
On my Apple updating my E-Shops
Eat a apple a day, take a brief pause
Take a nap, lie awake in-between sobs
Then I rap and I pray and the grief stops
My ego take cheap shots
Can’t believe how she speak to me
She talks like it’s neat pushing buttons like key fobs
Well good day, bitch, I’m writing this beat knocks
Tryna pen classics like Reeboks
Or Greek thoughts or a Fleet Fox
And teach a good message like Aesop’s
That stick to my skin just like grease spots
So forget all the things that my dreams cost
Yeah, I’m getting my kicks, fuck some clean socks
Ice cold, we living like freeze pops
Cause I’m gonna take licks while I defrost
Divest from your demons, and weak stocks
And invest in your team ’til your scene pops
It might mean wearing jeans ’til the seam pops
But don’t wait like Dre did with Detox
No hate hinder me, I will clean clocks
Like today, I can’t play, I don’t give fucks
I won’t change what I say, take your screenshots
Yeah, I’m just being me that’s what she wants
And this might seem weird cause a dream stops
When you wake up but for the sake of
Finding peace, no sleep when you dream jobs
Now please, go be who you dream of




Kanye West – Feedback (Dorian_Ye Version) Lyrics




[Intro]
I’ve been outta my mind a long time
I’ve been outta my mind a long time

[Hook]
Ayy, y’all heard about the good news?
Y’all sleeping on me, huh? Had a good snooze?
Wake up, nigga, wake up
We bout to get this paper

[Verse 1]
Money never made me
Make me do something? Nah, can’t make me
Even if the money low, can’t pay me
Even if the money low, can’t play me

[Hook]
Ayy, y’all heard about the good news?
Y’all sleeping on me, huh? Had a good snooze?
Wake up, nigga, wake up
We bout to get this paper

[Verse 2]
Pablo bought a Roley and a rottweiler
Seem like the more fame, I only got wilder
Hands up, we just doing what the cops taught us
Hands up, we just doing what the cops taught us
I’ve been outta my mind a long time
I’ve been outta my mind a long time
I’ve been saying how I feel at the wrong time
Might not come when you want but I’m on time

[Hook]
Ayy, y’all heard about the good news?
Y’all sleeping on me, huh? Had a good snooze?
Wake up, nigga, wake up
We ’bout to get this paper

[Verse 3]
I can’t let these people play me
Name one genius that ain’t crazy
Follow our father
You borrow our motto
I’m a Chicago south sider
I’m a Chicago south sider

[Hook]
Ayy, y’all heard about the good news?
Y’all sleeping on your boy, had a good snooze?
Wake up, nigga, wake up
It’s time to get the paper

[Verse 4]
I’ve been outta my mind a long time
I’ve been outta my mind a long time
I know, I know, I shouldn’t even bother
With all these gossiping, no-pussy-getting bloggers
Fashion show in Gotham, I need another costume
PETA’s mad cause I made a jacket outta possum
Awesome, Steve Jobs mixed with Steve Austin
Rich slave in the fabric store picking cotton
If Hov J then every Jordan need a Rodman
Man, Jay, they don’t really want no problems
Driving in the same car that they killed Pac in
Driving in the same urrr that they killed Pac in
Hands up, we just doing what the cops taught us
Hands up, hands up, then the cops shot us

[Outro]
Hold on, hold on, hold on
Wait a second, everybody here, I’m the ghetto Oprah
You know what that mean? You get a fur! You get a fur!
You get a jet! You get a jet! Big booty bitch for you! Woo!


Kanye West – No More Parties In La (The Life Of Pablo Album)


[Intro: Johnny "Guitar" Watson & Junie Morrison]
La di da da-a, da-a (I like this flavor)
La da da da di da da-a, la-a
Let me tell you, I’m out here
From a very far away place
All for a chance to be a star
Nowhere seems to be too far

[Hook: Kanye West]
No more parties in L.A
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh
No more parties in L.A
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh
No more (Los Angeles)
Please (shake that body, party that bod-)
Please (shake that body, party that body)
Please (shake that body, party that body)

[Verse 1: Kendrick Lamar & Kanye West]
Hey baby you forgot your Ray Bans
And my sheets still orange from your spray tan
It was more than soft porn for the K-man
She remember my Sprinter, said "I was in the grape van"
Uhm, well cutie, I like your bougie booty
Come Erykah Badu me, well, let’s make a movie
Hell, you know my repertoire is like a wrestler
I show you the ropes, connect the dots
A country girl that love Hollywood
Mama used to cook red beans and rice
Now it’s Denny’s, 4 in the morning, spoil your appetite
Liquor pouring and niggas swarming your section with erection
Smoke in every direction, middle finger pedestrians
R&B singers and lesbians, rappers and managers
Music and iPhone cameras
This shit unanimous for you, it’s damaging for you, I think
That pussy should only be holding exclusive rights to me, I mean
He flew you in this motherfucker on first class
Even went out his way so you could check in an extra bag
Now you wanna divide the yam like it equate the math?
That shit don’t add up, you’re making him mad as fuck
She said she came out here to find an A-list rapper
I said baby, spin that round and say the alphabet backwards
You’re dealing with malpractice, don’t kill a good nigga’s confidence
Just cause he a nerd and you don’t know what a condom is
The head still good though, the head still good though
Make me say "Nam Myoho Renge Kyo"
Make a nigga say big words and act lyrical
Make me get spiritual
Make me believe in miracles, Buddhist monks and Cap’n Crunch cereal
Lord have mercy, thou will not hurt me
Five buddies all herded up on a Thursday
Bottle service, head service, I came in first place
The opportunity, the proper top of breast and booty cheek
The pop community, I mean these bitches come with union fee
And I want two of these, moving units through consumer streets
Then my shoe released, she was kicking in gratuity
And yeah G, I was all for it
She said K Lamar, you kind of dumb to be a poet
I’mma put you on game for the lames that don’t know they’re a rookie
Instagram is the best way to promote some pussy

[Hook: Kanye West]
Scary
Scary
No more parties in L.A
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A

[Verse 2: Kanye West]
Friday night tryna make it into the city
Breakneck speeds, passenger seat something pretty
Thinking back to how I got here in the first place
Second class bitches wouldn’t let me on first base
A backpack nigga with luxury taste buds
And the Louis Vuitton store, got all of my pay stubs
Got pussy from beats I did for niggas more famous
When did I become A list? I wasn’t even on a list
Strippers get invited to where they only get hired
When I get on my Steve Jobs, somebody gon’ get fired
I was uninspired since Lauryn Hill retired
And 3 Stacks, man, you preach it to the choir
Any rumor you ever heard about me was true and legendary
I done got Lewinsky and paid secretaries
For all my niggas with babies by bitches
That use they kids as meal tickets
Not knowing the disconnect from the father
The next generation will be the real victims
I can’t fault ’em really
I remember Amber told my boy no matter what happens she ain’t going back to Philly
Back to our regularly scheduled programmin’
Of weak content and slow jammin’
But don’t worry, this one’s so jammin’
You know it, L.A., it’s so jammin’
I be thinkin’ every day
Mulholland Drive, need to put up some god damn barricades
I be paranoid every time
The pressure, the problem ain’t I be drivin’
The problem is I be textin’
My psychiatrist got kids that I inspired
First song they played for me was ’bout their friend that just died
Textin’ and drivin’ down Mulholland Drive
That’s why I’d rather take the 405
I be worried ’bout my daughter, I be worried ’bout Kim
But Saint is baby Ye, I ain’t worried ’bout him
I had my life threatened by best friends who had selfish intents
What I’m supposed to do?
Ride around with a bulletproof car and some tints?
Every agent I know, know I hate agents
I’m too black, I’m too vocal, I’m too flagrant
Something smellin’ like shit, that’s the new fragrance
It’s just me, I do it my way, bitch
Some days I’m in my Yeezys, some days I’m in my Vans
If I knew y’all made plans I wouldn’t have popped the Xans
I know some fans who thought I wouldn’t rap like this again
But the writer’s block is over, emcees cancel your plans
A 38-year-old 8-year-old with rich nigga problems
Tell my wife that I hate the Rolls so I don’t never drive it
It took 6 months to get the Maybach all matted out
And my assistant crashed it soon as they backed it out
God damn, got a bald fade, I might slam
Pink fur, got Nori dressing like Cam, thank God for me
Whole family gettin’ money, thank God for E!
I love rockin’ jewelry, a whole neck full
Bitches say he funny and disrespectful
I feel like Pablo when I’m workin’ on my shoes
I feel like Pablo when I see me on the news
I feel like Pablo when I’m workin’ on my house
Tell ’em party’s in here, we don’t need to go out
We need the turbo thots, high speed, turbo thots
Drop-dro-dro-dro-drop it like Robocop
She brace herself and hold my stomach, good dick’ll do that
She keep pushin’ me back, good dick’ll do that
She push me back when the dick go too deep
This good dick’ll put your ass to sleep
Get money, money, money, money
Big, big money, money, money, money
And as far as real friends, tell all my cousins I love ’em
Even the one that stole the laptop, you dirty motherfucker

[Bridge: Larry Graham]
I just keep on lovin’ you, baby
And there’s no one else I know who can take your place

[Hook: Kanye West]
Please, no more parties in L.A
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh
No more parties in L.A
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh
No more parties in L.A
Please, baby, no more parties in L.A., uh
No more (Los Angeles)

[Outro: Junie Morrison]
I’m out here from a very far away place
All for a chance to be a star
Nowhere seems to be too far
SWISH


Kanye West – Feedback (The Life Of Pablo Album)


[Hook]
Ayy, y’all heard about the good news?
Y’all sleeping on me, huh? Had a good snooze?
Wake up, nigga, wake up
We bout to get this paper

[Verse 1]
Money never made me
Make me do something? Nah, can’t make me
Even if the money low, can’t pay me
Even if the money low, can’t play me

[Hook]
Ayy, y’all heard about the good news?
Y’all sleeping on me, huh? Had a good snooze?
Wake up, nigga, wake up
We bout to get this paper

[Verse 2]
Pablo bought a Roley and a rottweiler
Seem like the more fame, I only got wilder
Hands up, we just doing what the cops taught us
Hands up, we just doing what the cops taught us
I’ve been outta my mind a long time
I’ve been outta my mind a long time
I’ve been saying how I feel at the wrong time
Might not come when you want but I’m on time

[Hook]
Ayy, y’all heard about the good news?
Y’all sleeping on me, huh? Had a good snooze?
Wake up, nigga, wake up
We ’bout to get this paper

[Verse 3]
I can’t let these people play me
Name one genius that ain’t crazy
Follow our father
You borrow our motto
I’m a Chicago south sider
I’m a Chicago south sider

[Hook]
Ayy, y’all heard about the good news?
Y’all sleeping on your boy, had a good snooze?
Wake up, nigga, wake up
It’s time to get the paper

[Verse 4]
I’ve been outta my mind a long time
I’ve been outta my mind a long time
I know, I know, I shouldn’t even bother
With all these gossiping, no-pussy-getting bloggers
Fashion show in Gotham, I need another costume
PETA’s mad cause I made a jacket outta possum
Awesome, Steve Jobs mixed with Steve Austin
Rich slave in the fabric store picking cotton
If Hov J then every Jordan need a Rodman
Man, Jay, they don’t really want no problems
Driving in the same car that they killed Pac in
Driving in the same uh that they killed Pac in
Hands up, we just doing what the cops taught us
Hands up, hands up, then the cops shot us

[Outro]
Hold on, hold on, hold on
Wait a second, everybody here, I’m the ghetto Oprah
You know what that mean? You get a fur! You get a fur!
You get a jet! You get a jet! Big booty bitch for you! Woo!