BUILDING BLUEPRINT
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Lyrical Analysis of...
Memories (From An Outcast)
- (Intro)
- Hahaha this is real shit that I'm about to lay down. Allow me to literate in
- words.
- (Verse 1)
- I remember back to when I was three, living and thinking so free
- My daddy took his pain and frustration to the ultimate extreme
- Throwing shit around,yelling at invisible enemies and let out
- so steam by the sound of a scream.
- Mom began to scream,at him and crying a tear filled stream
- She packed her bags with me in tow,she says I'm leaving
- with our daughter until you come back upstream from downstream
- Daddy got help,but wasn't any different,just became a figment
- of his own imagination.He thought he was speaking and hearing
- Mom didn't turn out too well either,her daddy left when she was thirteen
- and she never knew how to love properly,emotionally cold being.
- I tried and tried but I know that deep down I knew there was no feeling
- I wish I could flee right now,but what stops me from fleeing
- (Can somebody tell me?)
- (Chorus)
- All these memories of good and bad times
- Have gotten me so damn confused
- All I want is to remember the good times
- It seems that both sides have fused
- (Verse 2)
- I remember school so crystal clear and true to the word
- Walking down the hallways and ignoring the smirks
- of my classmates as they see me,thinking I was just a nerd
- But thank you,that's who I'am,so keep walking on
- I'm about to get my Bruce Lee on,with all of his brawn
- I hated them,some of them I liked but social predicaments
- I would rather be left out of,they got themselves in serious
- predicaments smoking on the blunt 24/7,taking Oxy and
- Roxies until they pass out on the fort and path rocks
- Having babies by the time we hit senior year,about
- half of my class didn't make it to that year.Talking about
- hustling and stacking the bread,when it is all talk and no action
- Go to the hoods of Boston and Brockton to feel the real friction
- for this is no fiction,this is non fiction and they love a punk
- to perform a bullet dissection.
- (Repeat Chorus)
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