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lyrics

I don't believe in miracles. I know where babies come from. She caught some of my love and we got caught in a conundrum. I celebrate your birthdays. You’d be four in June or August. I’ll warn you not turn into a whore like your father when you’re old enough to fuck and you’re young enough for careless performance to land you solo in some parenting courses. I don't mind if you're angry and mutter under your breath that you fucking hate my fucking guts I still loved you to death when we raked your mom's into a tray with metal cuffs on her legs or a set of stirrups. Either way she was under duress. When you got your ugly little face on the nurse's scrubs and I wept ‘cause you looked just like daddy after one of his sets; a bloody mess. My little puddle of a bundle of flesh underdeveloped, no larger than the lump in my chest. And if anybody wanna be friends at the cusp of December, I’ll be drunk again. takin’ baby stumblin’ steps. 

Fuck it. Dead it.
This what happen when you kiss and hug
Conjure black magic from a simple touch
Shit, we just some kids, we young and how we supposed to give it love when we ain’t got enough of it for us?
That’s what happens when you get me drunk. Sorry i’m so quick to bust
I guess we could have given it up. What a waste.
I ain’t no litter bug.

The world don’t need more orphans. Too young too wild to support it. Too early to tell if it’s a boy or a girl so I’ll sing a little song about my little almost person. The world don’t need more orphans. Too dumb, too high so unfortunate. What a gift. what a burden. Here’s hymn about my little almost person. The world got enough shitty parents. Misfired, misguided missed carriages. Mislead into a practical companionship. I would know. I was born a happy accident. Poor timing, malnourishment. Tiny heart, shitty lungs, no courage left. No funerals for the unborn. No rituals. No services. Here’s a little eulogy for my little almost person.

Fuck it. Dead it.
This what happen when you kiss and hug
Conjure black magic from a simple touch
Shit, we just some kids, we young and how we supposed to give it love when we ain’t got enough of it for us?
That’s what happens when you get me drunk. Sorry i’m so quick to bust
I guess we could have given it up. What a waste.
I ain’t no litter bug.
Fuck it. Dead it.
This what happens when you kiss and hug
Form some bad habits with a kindred lush 
How a couple kids on drugs supposed to give their love to something they’d rejected from the jump?
That’s what happens when I trip and fuck onto a living partner, sugar momma. Guess it stuck
Yeah, We could have given it up. What a waste.
Litter bug.

credits

from Pressure of the Tempest, released March 9, 2020

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WATKK is an independent hip-hop label curating unapologetically unique music.

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