Small Hands - My Turn

This is the first track on my current release, "Muscles to Frown Mixtape." Message me if you want me to mail you a copy! Enjoy Lyrics verse 1: Look out, eyes peeled open, always watching where they wander/ Honing my peripheral vision, listen closely when I sit and ponder/ Quickly , not for long, for sure/ For time is dissipating, like a lonely little cloud at noon in a desert landscape/ Sing while you carry on, a tune that you could be carried in/ Your own personal cumulonimbus like its a chariot/ Ariel scoping, making it rain careful so as not to blow you load/ Oh! there it goes again, you soak the ground you alit upon/ A sitting duck, a lost pawn/ Pick it up or it's gone/ Use it or lose it, another victim to this shit storm/ Grab the bull by the horn now, or forever morn. Now you've been warned. How 'bout you see for yourself?/ Seeing is believing, but you don't recognize the loss/ the moment that you had and let pass and what that really costs/ So sleep it off boss, and when you realize that you're fighting for the wrong cause/ you can tell me I was right all along and suck my balls off. Chorus: Right, left, right, left, right, from mistakes, I learn. Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight, move over, my turn. Chorus (background): Jump in, become engulfed, galvanize, open eyes, even when the lids are down, the shades are drawn, the lights are on inside. A million miles a millisecond, feeling overwhelmed at times. x2 Verse 2: Do I wanna take it further? Further than what? Further than the bloody history that's taught to us? They glorify and filter it, and it still looks ugly, even though, those are the parts of history they want us to know/ It becomes hard for me to not believe there's an even darker past we'll never get to see and it's for the best, probably/ Don't be afraid to approach top speed, further and further, let's proceed/ Beyond the grips of this system with a middle class, like here's a pinch of freedom that even you can afford, so long as you work forty hours a week or more/ You stinkin' whore/ Whether you're pushing buttons on a qwerty key board, or the register at a convenience store/ If you don't love what you're doing you should seek the door/ Reap your benefits for being born with what surrounds you/ Don't think for a minute that I'm talking about you. Chorus out Find more at smallhandedbandit.com