BUILDING BLUEPRINT
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Lyrical Analysis of...
Playing Games (ft. chkhaboom)
- //Verse: RapBoat//
- Breathing in steam, cause air is air, sneakers scraping, I lean
- Into it, somome’s weeping behind a curtain, mourning
- Steam spilling out, machines whirring, and a dude in a FILA beanie screams
- Eat my quarters again and I’ll feed you metal, run to the deli
- Which reopened in name only, don’t even sell meat
- Peel myself away, see some folks weaving through traffic on scooters
- A food truck selling deep fried Oreos, don’t need a reason to fool us
- Cause I ain’t playing games, I came with blades, laceratin’ the safe space
- Laminating my name on what you tried to claim, I'm what Bane was
- Before the mask, still debating your place, I reshape airwaves, bruh
- Vaporizing gates, your safe space is my buffet, I’m flaying your DNA
- Rather shake up the whole damn stadium than be some nobody, I don’t chase
- Alignment, I make the compass spin like an earthquake, don’t care how
- Centered you look if you still run away from life, I’m like an avalanche
- I came to plate smash, asking you why you thought you could contain me, man
- Outlasted you clowns, you can’t kill what adapts, you can’t drown a shark
- In its own ocean, lines so volatile they register on the Richter scale, you tards
- Step wrong and get snapped in half, your ambition gets shot before it graduates
- Then blow up the whole fuckin’ room, I’m a moving target that aims
- And never misses, slice shit like Iverson in his prime time, redefine
- What you idolize, but multiplied, unrestrained and weaponized
- I make Nike nervous with how I just do it, crucify em like Hova during Blueprint
- They dying but I’m surviving, you’ll flatline before half of my shit is outlined
- //Verse: chkhaboom//
- tucked in a corner like double ups, scuffed just for fumbling numbers, i crushed it like junkyard bumpers
- like lunch debt, double the budget of nothing but rubber and bubble wrap bundles
- run this like rutgers on mud turf, disruption like bumper to bumper, you sputter like Mustangs
- with underinflated suspensions, i’m bustin’ through this shit like tech from a test lab with Dexter
- knockin your optics off, locked like a vault, your content’s off, drop what you got
- when you caught a response, clocking my spot like a stopwatch stocked in a pawn shop
- got boxed with a shot, stomped through the lot with a Glock, mocked every opp
- that dropped off when the chalk got drawn,caught flopping in hotspots, pop off
- been stocked like broth in a crockpot til I stop and jot, dropped your disc in a Ziploc bag
- a hand to dismantle you, like a capsule crash landing, understand, i don’t tap in for that, a half damp bandana
- wrapped around your neck like you planned for a trek through Atlanta, but landed
- instead in a campus with pamphlets that asked if you’d glanced at your credit
- collapsed like the back of a in traffic jam, sounded like cashback spam blasts
- captured in Snapchats, i’m back with a stack of attachments to batter you, yeah
- stepped through the entry of a ten speed rental off the edge of a sketchy pedestrian friendly stretch
- in the middle of a densely settled section where the vending machine had been emptied
- except for a Nestle treat that’d been melted since at least the seventeenth of September
- pressed on the keypad, reset settings like three separate times til the beeps played correctly
- then went through the vestibule next to a bench where it shed on my jeans, i checked for a message
- left me a set of aggressively lengthy essays on what to do if the vent leaked or the bed creaked
- a dead beet and a lemon, which led me to guess that the skeletal cretin in the center of the den was the entity
- resting aggressively on a bench near the mezzanine where I eventually ended up tossing out everything
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