Sepia Selfies from the Last Supper

Lyrics

[Intro] Yo this where we at Yo Romes, man, mad candles lit We doin' this again? Yo Hack, what up? Yeah, let's go in [Verse] I promise you, no matter how much you hate me, I hate me more Verses with movie level content, concepts should be released by A24 There's some places I'm adored, for the words that I'm formin' I'm so ahead of my time I built the very hospital ward I was physically born in Hi dirty mirror, I'm feelin' less than nothing when I'm lookin' at you Paleontologists diggin' up all the bones that a scorched Earth can possibly manufacture Given a hairline fracture, paradigm of rapture, purple houses, the airliner rupture Combined with a rare mind in perpetual prime, put me in the 'Greatest Of All Time' bracket You're spineless and plastic, I promise that it's spastic I've crafted With a viral [?] a pineal gland elastic Sketchin' a Nephilim into ethereal magic Material scattered into an eerie, old, tattered cabin, I'm a Cro-Magnon in a beauty pageant Chino's feral flow is guano, that's the scientifical term for batshit In this cave it took time to bear fruit Now I'm gonna get subpoena'd for being dressed this fresh, call it a civil suit I'm spinning linen like I was in a pyramid center when language was invented In the studio in Italy, Venice with Balthazar Romes, even the mixing board is weed scented I admit it that I'm a little bit a midget killer, I use the galaxy as my fidget spinner 'Cause it's boring rhyming this calculus glitter to all the kindergarten partial [?] spared niggas Your illiterate album is Kardashian, face filled up with false fillers I'm Jesus taking selfies at the Last Supper, please recognize the true and livin' Disgruntled off and met an awkward loss but I found myself often Fighting the urge to tell people to shut the fuck up even when they are not talkin' I've always stated that content-wise I'm a sensitive maniac My whole style got swiped like any broke nigga's entire life on every dating app Warped ambiance, I'm swimmin' in this indica and Ambiens Acquaintances that have asked me to slow down my drug experiments We are no longer even former friends Chest pains got me restrained to this light flashin' ambulance Camera lens zoomin' in the Panavision, the fuckin' doctors ain't even washed their hands Inhalin' the scenario, why is it like this, yo? I really don't know But if pain was a person I would've for certain killed them or hurt 'em a long time ago I lost my spirit in the darkness, I'm tryna get it back Immersed in this space where the righteous and talented person always seems cursed and finishin' last I'm bleedin' an ancient, sacred hatred, you can save it and put it in vials My work is revenge for every vacant lie that's ever been told to a child Look at hands that are idle, I'm feeling suicidal My rhyme releases are vital, but follow that Lauryn Hill model Wild, unpleasant and always late on arrival I be spilling my truest self all over the music for the crudest budget Question: Would it blow up if I actually killed myself doin' a recordin' of it? Wordplay for plane crash: my death a blessin' in disguise Most of the time the two gifts I don't wanna open up are my fuckin' eyes (My fuckin' eyes, nigga) [Outro] Feel like I'm screamin' with my mouth covered (These are selfies from the Last Supper) Scenes of my younger self hidin' with my wrist cut up (Selfies from the Last Supper) I'm claustrophobic and I'm bein' smothered (No flash please, selfies from the Last Supper) I left my leakin' heart inside my notebook (I'm takin' selfies at the Last Supper) (Save me!) [Chorus] My flesh is the table, my rhymes are the gospel, we suffer In death and betrayal my grief feelin' fatal, my brother My pen is the chalice, my pain in salvation we under Trial of Judas, the sorrow influenced my mother The breaking of bread the last time, love and fellowship's over The ink is the blood, song and scripture that's bringing us closer The tears of the desert, redemption for Derek Barbosa Ghostwriting the suicide note for Kobain on his sofa