Bangles - Heems

Uh, Gandhi

On my way to the lab met my first real fan

Said my verse real grand

I said, «Please, chill Stan.»

Who I really write for, my moms and my brother

That’s why I’m really quite raw, my songs is my lover

Going no jimmy, my flow is so silly

Gandhi best rapper, got you going oh really

So, feel me when I say I never knew love, like new love

True thug, do drugs, then I ask for group hug

Baby so funny, you can call me Robin Williams

Got no money, you can catch me rob and steal some

Gandhi sounding real Pun, when I’m just a metaphor

Big Baby Gandhi why I love the cheddar for

The ones who want it the most are they who lack it

See me on the block in my Nehru jacket

With my Kufi on

With my Toufik (?) on

Vintage polo, looking kinda groovy, huh

I don’t know what else to do (etc…)

When I was under age I was unafraid

To step up on a stage

And request to get paid

Used to detest any weak bitch that would stand in my way

Like a Linksys, I was wireless, tireless

I just couldn’t be contained

Used to hang with my niggas

And sang with my niggas

Never slanged with my niggas

Just used the internet and took pictures

Used to put them up on my LJ, my Xanga, my MySpace

Record songs at my place

To meet my CD-R release date

Used to meet Kate, with her sweet face

Cause of my race, she liked my taste

And liked my songs, I liked her thong

We got it on, but it felt wrong

So I gave her back, like a rebate

But my life is rinse and repeat

Now I’m with Kate, in New York State

And life’s great

And I can’t hate

I don’t know what else to do (etc…)

Greedhead Music

Mike said, «Rap about some beautiful shit.»

(Beauty)

I just want to rap about booties and simple shit (Booties!)

Beauty’s for the books, and I’m illiterate

'Gobbled and Chewed up by the schools system' immigrant

Trying to make money like white people, and

Learn how to be figurative, less literal

Hyper literate, hyper referential

Rap too minimal

Trying to write for The Guardian about Pakistani generals

Old Guard sentinels

All god father with sensitive sweet sexy similies for your mind sense and shit

Dimension spins

I can’t drink as much

Stop smoking blunts

Don’t split the dutch

Think I’ll quit the drugs

Kicked to the curb, too much

You on whose nuts?

Still puff the herb

Dorothy & Herb, get my art collection up

Still can drink a little

Poor myself another cup

What’s up?

(x9)

I don’t know what else to do (etc…)

Mike doesn’t look happy

What’s up?

(x7)