I Barely Know How to Dress Myself - Swordplay

Tell me

What is it that you find in the tiny wardrobes of your existence?

Is it a silk robe sewn with time?

Or Dusty laces?

Faces covered in the pride of coal mines

Otherwise soon to becomes traces of the resistance?

Me, I pay no mind to bow ties tied round the necks of alcoholics

No cash money in their leather wallets

Pull yourself up by your own Rolex

I’m sorry I can’t help you

I would if I could

But I barely know how to dress myself

And I don’t dress up for death chants

So I show up to OCI wearing a pair of sweat pants

No internal time urgency

I leave the public interest behind me

Personally, I am interested in making 180 or maybe 190

Fuck it, why not 225?

I’ve benefited from privilege, now I’m at the top of the economy

Though I’ve spoken to those below me back at the colonies

I work within that dichotomy whereas

You disappear inside theory and can only regurgitate your favorite European

philosophy

My autobiography will be in at least three languages

I am an Arabic grammar champion.

I get paid to make sandwiches

I’m slinging syntax back with the emcees next to me

Complexity doesn’t bother me

But I barely know how to dress myself

I make a pretty good refrigerator poetry nonsense

And I can think in abstract concepts

I’m undefeated in Mortal Kombat

24/7 contact customer service expert

Just seeking to apply myself

I split infinitives wherever I please

And I make up adjectives

It’s a hyper-complexative hobby of mine, but I find it inadequate

To effectively demonstrate my skill

Cos at the end of the day I still

I still barely know how to dress myself

I thank god that at the very least I know how to pray for myself

1−800 numbers still stuffed into my pockets

I take a picture and I crop it

Passed away loved ones in my little locket attached to that necklace

I’m a limited-edition Nexus 6 prototype the way I’ve been instructed to wreck

this shit

You’re intoxicated at breakfast

You drive away in a Lexus

Your sideview might be exactly what my U-lock might mess with

Motherfucker, I barely know how to dress myself

My cognitive capacity at an all-time high

Whereas every last neuron of yours has gone awry

Your creeks have all run dry.

I’m swimming in the ocean

Not a modicum of regret in my body, except that the water is frozen

And I swallowed the wrong dosage

Way past metamorphosis.

No performances

Not even an attempt at any resemblance of choruses

My hearing is fine

My vision, like an NSA satellite in orbit

I am still 64-bit

I just barely know how to dress myself

And in international airports, I observe convention

And the jet lag does not affect me

Because I make it a point to not malfunction

Though I barely know how to dress myself