The Feels

Lyrics
[Intro] Deal with me [Verse 1: Kemba] I feel like I can't be by myself alone I've seen deterioration of a happy home I've seen materialization from niggas that can't afford it Real niggas in costume jewelry, old English and Chinese Jordan's I've seen the visualizations, but I hope they're wrong I've been there sitting complacent like an Uncle Tom I've welcome my momma's fakest friends with open arms I know I strained some relations when I wrote this song [Bridge 1: Kemba] Fuck it, it feels like I've lost it all (All) Ignored your cause Flew so high, I was forced to fall [Verse 2: Kemba] I feel like I, I feel like my family Tried to be family, offered a shoulder, then once it was over It's like they don't know me, that could lead to pure insanity Hate for humanity, I could've called them But, shit, my momma died, I'm traumatized, I'm not alright I need serenity, slip me some remedy, some realignment For my inner me, positive energy, to reassign some Higher entity, all these nature's blessings, scented memories How can you love me? You don't remember me (Remember me) [Bridge 2: Kemba] Turned your phone off, ignore my calls Got so high (High) [Verse 3: Kemba] I feel like I, you felt like I'm Selfish and bitter, I never **** without an agenda Only care about myself and my niggas I never brought you back as much as a picture 'less I want recognition I never asked you what you wanted for dinner I don't love you 'less I'm broke or I'm injured You can't hide your intentions, there ain't nothing like a mom's intuition I wonder if there was a sign and I missed it If I went harder to listen, but I have some suspicion But instead, I'm caught off guard, I'm calling God for assistance Need divine intervention, yes, I know I'm not the ideal Christian I'm your son, here's my ID, my picture, I need you to prevent this I'll repent, I'll hit my knees and surrender How could I ever be so blind and so distant? Towards the end, it was different Ain't step foot in the kitchen, is it part of a mission? Is it part of— mm, fuck... [Bridge: Kemba] Hello, no one is available to take your call Please leave a message after the tone Beep Yrros m'I ,kcab llac t'noD Niaga eciov reh raeh ot detnaw tsuj I Enihcam rewsna reh detnaw I ,rebmun s'mum ym eb ot desu sihT Yrros m'I ,iH [Verse 4: Kemba & Portugal. The Man] Find myself recently dreaming 'bout being a kid again Broken and bleeding, cut open, I'm peeling my skin again Devil been creeping, increasingly thinking 'bout ending it All my immediate family really attempted it I had to be there, you need me, no people, no witnesses Maybe the traits in my genus? You see the resemblance So many pills in the sink, I think even the fish are dead How can you blame me? You made me the reason I wish I'm dead I'm just a product, my momma, my papa, my siblings Raised off of dial up and monthly trials of the internet Saw, as a toddler, a flaw that retired my innocence Papa retired and momma was tired as Michelin "Bring me the belt for the beating," my knees was trembling Mama was swinging like Venus, Serena at Wimbledon Little kids tweaking off sweetened farina with cinnamon Now that I'm eating, it's sweetened farina with cinnamon Do you believe in Jesus or need the sentiment? God'll receive us, the preacher is really a sinner man Nah, I don't need it, I'm pleading, I'm heathen, I'll sin again "Tryna be equal" and "probably evil" 's a synonym Nobody seen the relationships needed rekindling Now when I see you, I lower the dream of my benefit (Pour the acid in) Now when I told you [unintelligible] (Pour the acid in) (Pour the acid in) [Chorus: Portugal. The Man] Getting cold, I don't know will I rise again Dig a hole in my soul, pour the acid in It's getting cold, I don't know, will I rise again? Dig a hole in my soul, pour the acid in It's getting cold, I don't know, will I rise again? Dig a hole in my soul, pour the acid in It's getting cold, I don't know, will I rise again? Dig a hole in my soul, pour the acid in [Guitar Solo] [Outro: Portugal. The Man] Dig a hole in my soul, pour the acid in
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Credits
- Writers
- Black Milk
- Ivan Jackson
- John Gurley
- Robin Lamble
- Kemba