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Natural Born Spitters Ft Murma

The Room - #CorpusCallosum - prod. @TheCashJordan

DGB’s 6th solo project, Corpus Callosum has an evenly balanced combination of calm and wild as well a different producer for each song on the tape.  Show you support by sharing the track using the hashtags #teamloko or #corpuscallosum.  ENJOY!

Blue painted walls, with a slightly slanted picture frame
Laundry all over the carpet, but the bed is made
To the left some rusty dumbbells and a couple weights
Couple roaches sittin all alone on a paper plate
There he sits, pen is gripped, beats on mobile speakers
That he bought for $20, said he wished he found them cheaper
And his wallet got a dollar, but that laundry needed cleanin
Now he broke like diving boards when fatties enter the deep end
That’s where he happens to be in
Girlfriend is tryna reach him, ignore it?  She prolly leavin
But he’s sure these bars are decent
She dumped him, said she peacin
Picked music over his GF 
And the bars that made them break-up were a flop when they released
What a struggle what a struggle
When that light is so above you
And that dark is so apparent like you barley in the tunnel
Like you barely see the brightness
Like you trapped beneath the rubble 
And they hear you yelling out but won’t get close enough to touch you

HOOK
He was on a high and could never come down
And his misses had him fooled into thinking he was foolish for dreaming in the clouds
Now he faded with a cup, with another bitch to fuck, 
But his lady’s back in town
But it’s passion to death, prolly find him at his desk
Head bobbin to the sound, thinking to himself
They ain’t ready for me

VERSE 2

Blue painted walls, with a slightly slanted picture frame
Laundry folded, bed indented where a broad had laid
Put the weights in the closet, he thought he’d rearrange
TV muted showing local news, channel 8
Got a turkey sandwich and mayonnaise
Got a Lays stack on his bad leg
Crumbs on the mattress padding
With the buds in and the bud lit
Go along with the beat with his drumsticks 
And his passion like a numbness
Was an attic after one hit
With the ballads, he’s a junkie
He broke bad, his notepad, like a home base for that dope lab
Got a coat rack with a black jacket, flow cold as the blow from the fan action
Snapback, so backwards, frat glasses, no Kappa
The beat stopped, he hopped up and straightened the pic that was so slanted
They said he dropped the ball
He said that bitch was flat
And now he on the ladder cutting pieces of the net
And anytime he felt the doubt he’d pull it out and let it sit
And never left without that nylon that reminded him he did it.

HOOK
He was on a high and could never come down
And his misses had him fooled into thinking he was foolish for dreaming in the clouds
Now he faded with a cup, with another bitch to fuck, 
But his lady’s back in town
But it’s passion to death, prolly find him at his desk
Head bobbin to the sound, thinking to himself
They ain’t ready for me

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