One of LA’s smartest young voices says the LA Times...which the artist susp… Read Full Bio ↴One of LA’s smartest young voices says the LA Times...which the artist suspects, may just be a covert way of saying LA is dumb. "Open" Mike Eagle wouldn't terribly mind, being born and raised in Chicago where the painful winters and his uppity grandparents kept him inside as a youth. He spent his formative years watching alternative music happen on MTV and hoping to one day be able to audition for the Native Tongues. As a young adult after graduating with a degree in Psychology, he did the next best thing and moved to Los Angeles, joining the Project Blowed collective where he made music and toured with Busdriver, Aceyalone, Abstract Rude, Nocando, and more. He’s also gained notoriety in the world of comedy by being invited by professional funny people (Paul F. Tompkins, Hannibal Buress, Matt Besser/UCB) to rap at their shows. He’d like to be rap’s Kurt Vonnegut but recognizes that he’d first have to create something as iconic as the four-stroke illustration of an anus. He practices by releasing rap albums that delight, entertain, and confuse.
Maybe Gang
Open Mike Eagle Lyrics
I have never performed this ritual before
I'm going to do my, my very best
I'm going to read it as it, as it is stated here
Sign an autograph and sell it to your own self
Cause this a pageant, sing my anthem 'til your bones melt
It's engaged and it spans the entire globe
A big pigeon in a beanie in a choir robe
From a taxiderm bird on your fireplace
Just say the word and we emerge on your fire escape
And cookie-face vision half-blurred on a higher state
Confident, I keep my password on my licence plate
And I could teleport, we know the mirror arts
So fear the magic, it can tear your whole gear apart
Your generation's been cursed, what that trauma do
Our nametag says "Stop, look what I've been through"
We a pack of 500 black presidents
We the Bulls triple-seven magnificent
With no authority and self-written etiquette
A blag made of mirrors, bubba I'm you, I'm you
We is not a gang, we all look the same as you
But don't be ashamed, we all make the same snafu
We got different names, we might get the same tattoo
Maybe it's a gang, maybe it became that too
Yes, be polite, but beg no pardon, no
It's made of cookie-king dough on Mario
Then we laugh, the whole staff half-Byzantine
With mathematics, protractors, a chicken wing
And Mario has got my face looking silly, kid
A princess is in a whole different pyramid
A generation's been cursed, what that trauma do
Our nametag says "Stop, look what I've been through"
We a pack of 500 black elephants (black elephants!)
We the Bulls triple-seven magnificent (if you want!)
With no authority and self-written etiquette (yeah!)
The flag made of mirrors, bubba I'm you, I'm you
We is not a gang, we all look the same as you (tntroducing!)
We don't be ashamed, we done made the same snafu (the 1993 Chicago Bulls!)
We got different names, we might get the same tattoo
Maybe it's a gang, maybe it became that too
We is not a gang, we all look the same as you
(You're in it, you got tricked! You're in it now!)
We don't be ashamed, we done made the same snafu
We got different names, we might get the same tattoo
(Assume as the song goes off, you have been initiated!)
Maybe it's a gang, maybe it became that too
I'm going to do my, my very best
I'm going to read it as it, as it is stated here
Sign an autograph and sell it to your own self
Cause this a pageant, sing my anthem 'til your bones melt
It's engaged and it spans the entire globe
A big pigeon in a beanie in a choir robe
From a taxiderm bird on your fireplace
Just say the word and we emerge on your fire escape
Confident, I keep my password on my licence plate
And I could teleport, we know the mirror arts
So fear the magic, it can tear your whole gear apart
Your generation's been cursed, what that trauma do
Our nametag says "Stop, look what I've been through"
We a pack of 500 black presidents
We the Bulls triple-seven magnificent
With no authority and self-written etiquette
A blag made of mirrors, bubba I'm you, I'm you
We is not a gang, we all look the same as you
But don't be ashamed, we all make the same snafu
We got different names, we might get the same tattoo
Maybe it's a gang, maybe it became that too
Yes, be polite, but beg no pardon, no
It's made of cookie-king dough on Mario
Then we laugh, the whole staff half-Byzantine
With mathematics, protractors, a chicken wing
And Mario has got my face looking silly, kid
A princess is in a whole different pyramid
A generation's been cursed, what that trauma do
Our nametag says "Stop, look what I've been through"
We a pack of 500 black elephants (black elephants!)
We the Bulls triple-seven magnificent (if you want!)
With no authority and self-written etiquette (yeah!)
The flag made of mirrors, bubba I'm you, I'm you
We is not a gang, we all look the same as you (tntroducing!)
We don't be ashamed, we done made the same snafu (the 1993 Chicago Bulls!)
We got different names, we might get the same tattoo
Maybe it's a gang, maybe it became that too
We is not a gang, we all look the same as you
(You're in it, you got tricked! You're in it now!)
We don't be ashamed, we done made the same snafu
We got different names, we might get the same tattoo
(Assume as the song goes off, you have been initiated!)
Maybe it's a gang, maybe it became that too
Lyrics © O/B/O APRA AMCOS
Written by: Michael Eagle
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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