You keep your distance with your Sunday Comics and gentle persuasion. I’m lost in admiration, could I need you this much? Oh, you’re wasting my time…You’re just, just, just wasting time.
The four kings of emi are sitting stately on the floor; there are birds out on the sidewalk and a valet at the door. He reminds me of a penguin with few and plastered hair, there’s Sunday Comics on the letter and the birthday boy is there.
Spark a new-born, blue blood, royal baby cry/Til her face turns red, til the brain has bled/Sunday Comics, worms are fed/And the headline said The Queen is dead (The Queen is dead) The Queen is dead (The Queen is dead) The Queen is dead
The notes’ll flow, yo, for the words I speak, rap is weak so I teach and I reach a positive vibe. A way of life is how I’m livin’, so get hype to the rhythm! Sunday ‘Mix is the crew, ya hear, yeah, designed a rhyme I just won’t fear. Back to react, enough is enough; let me ask you a question: what time is love?
I was raised from the rubble. Butt naked’s body double. Bullet bursting the bubble, like a bridge that’s over trouble. I read the Sunday Comics, then worshipping the Devil — in my eyes a compromise and I’m the man in the middle.