Suplexes Inside Of Complexes And Duplexes Lyrics - Jay Electronica

Might as wellduce 

This is madness! 

This is an outrage 

As a matter of fact, this is outrageous 

Yeah, young sire, slap the fuck out Jon Cryer 

Rough rider, raw bust inside a vagina 

Like I want kids, my head continues to be haunted 

I burn a city down while I'm unconscious, baby go on 

Take some quaaludes, conversate with Jesus 

Batting practice with the motherfucking ghost of Babe Ruth 

Do as a saint do, turn painful to graceful 

Devil on my trails, I'm trying to find the Holy Grail 

Right there 

And if Mars is the farthest that man has set his target 

Then I don't know why I even started 

I'm sick of being too nice to people who don't do shit but consume light 

Told myself, "Fuck the world kid, just do what you like" 

Go and have a food fight, start yourself a new life 

You're too bright to be inside a bunch of mediocrity 

But all those big words ain't gonna get you paid 

And those abstract ideas for sure won't get you laid 

You got it made in that mad house 

What the fuck you got to be sad about? Go ahead and rap now 

Do what you do best, I mean 

That's what you do best, matter fact motherfucker 

You suit vest, you need to buy a new dress 

I heard you and your girl live in a duplex 

I'ma put her ass in a Suplex, the sun east, the moon west 

You got a clue, what does a clue get? 

Nothing 

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My milk and honey, my chérie-chérie amore 

My Cinderella in her carriage by the doorway 

Her ruby slipper made the wizard send the scarecrow 

And the lion through the forest 

To the wicked witch's fortress where she scorched them in the foreplay 

Remember that? He said he'd fight the box to see the wizard 

When he was visited by Dorothy who came here on a blizzard 

Now the whole world's in color, still, 

How Auntie Em was next of kin and not her mother 

Real, her face was care-worn 

I suspected she migrated to Kansas up from Dearborn 

And had beef with Mrs. Gulch since the very beginning of Year One 

Mr. Candyman, the parables parabolic 

The poetry's like the poems and songs of Ecclesiastes 

Lightning should strike the stone and then Moses should make a tablet 

The Judge will bang the wood up in parliament with the mallet 

And yell "Hear, hear", finally some order to this rap shit 

Finally some sort of water to soil these cracked lips 

I keep my shit crispy and elegant, 

So miss me with the irrelevant, the god body is heaven-sent 

The hard-body is reverence, since the son of Byford 

Brother of Fal, every rhyme's halal 

Every line is kosher, livin' la vida loca 

Shout out to Tony Toca, we livin' how we supposed to 

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