Back to the previous page

Artist: First Serve (De La Soul)
Album:  De La Soul's Plug1 & Plug2 Present... First Serve
Song:   Small Disasters
Typed by:

{*alarm clock buzzes until Deen turns it off*}

{*yawns*} "Good morning heartache, it's a pleasure to meet you"
I said staring in the mirror in search of weakness
Shit am I the loose link? Madam Medus ink?
Pace movin slower than a statue frozen
Starving artist, more like hostage
Easily composed in mail and poastage
Mailbox empty though, no respondents
Chasin condiments, I need to catch up/ketchup
Beats are bangin, but ain't no bangin back
Sorry Charlie, no gold ticket 
(Cricket, cricket) Sound bites are hunger 
Put so much work in, but ain't no work out 
and ain't no ringtone in lonely doubt's ears
It's lonely out here, phony out here
like T.I. +U Don't Know Me+ out here
A smidgen of set-back sets in..

For weeks we wore the game face travellin place to place
Conventions (seminars) talent shows near and far
Travelled the south to let them know the name
Out THEY mouth shout a ghost of Ichabod Crane
Yo, could it be that we ain't good D?!
Nah, they just hatin (or really ain't relatin)
Feelin a little homesick, rather be at home with 
them corner boys talkin that everyday home shit
But when at the crib, anxiety sets in
I didn't set a "Plan B", understand me?
We need to get a hold on "Plan A"
Cause I'm NOT tryin to live on minimum pay
(This shit is takin too long yo) Yeah I told you bro
The old man's at the crib like "I told you so"
And mom's still prayin, I hope she ask God to 
open them doors to the game so we can get the play in

The second act curtains almost by nature
The wage is mental, bettin this won't happen
Change in the caption is not for captain 
Neither co-pilot, the colder silent
and in creeps Miss Doubt-fire's comfort
Tits danglin in front of, tanglin my thoughts
Departs from confines of my confidence 
Broken egos, small disasters 
Even in plaster, limbs will not heal 
I'm armin myself, charming I self
Lord and Master, show me a sign
Not for nothin Lord, show me

Wasn't it good with that Spalding
but excellent with the golf clubs
Scream WHOOOA~!! Smash the window to the car door
(Reach in) grab, sprint back to the lab
You would think I didn't have any sense 
but my sense of worth was still growin, so was my dreams
of being kids from Queens beings managed by Lyor Cohen 
and Russell Rush (Rick Rubin doin them beats)
A month later on stage with Adidas on my feet
but right now worry's on my mind
I'm still gon' climb (not stoppin) if the beats stop rockin
I'll beat hand and fist with skills on the table {*phone rings*}

NIGGA!! Kindoo said we got the deal with the label, B!


My word!

Don't fuck with me man, you playin!

Nah I'm not playin, +YOU+ playin!
Nigga I'm goin shoppin
We on Goon Time, bitch~!
See you at the mall