Correction Paroles The Feels par Kemba

Featuring(s) : Portugal. The Man

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Paroles

[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 hoped it wrong
I've been there sitting complacent like an Uncle Tom
I've welcomed my momma's fakest friends with open arms
I know I strained some relations when I wrote this song
f*ck it, it feels like I've lost it all (All, all, all, all)
Ignored your calls, flew so high I was forced to fall
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 sheeeit
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 Natures Blessings scented memories
How can you love me you don't remember me

[Kemba]
Turned your phone off ignored my calls
Got so high
I feel like I, you felt like I'm selfish an bitter
I never [phone ring sound] without an agenda
I only care about myself and my niggas
I never brought you back as much as a picture
Unless 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 her mission?
Is it part of…

[Kemba]
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 a 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 of sweetened farina with cinnamon
Now that I'm eating it sweetened farina with cinnamon
Do you believe in Jesus or need the sentiment
God'll receive us but preacher is really a sinning man
Nah, I don't need it, I'm pleading, I'm heathen, I'll sin again
“Tryna be equal” and “probably evil” are synonyms
Nobody seen the relationships needed rekindling
Now that I see you…

[Portugal. The Man]
Pour the acid in
Pour the acid in
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

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