Art of Words: Synthesizer

Synthesizer, microwave me! Give me a drug so I can make seven babies. Pump my breasts up. Can you suck the fat up? Please make my life appear like ain’t no such thing as bad luck? My, nose ain’t right. Think I need a new one. Just take your pick, a yellow red, a black, or a blue one? Virtual reality, virtual BULLSHIT! Synthesizer preachers can reach you up in the pulpit. Who a bitch?
Give me my gat so I can smoke this nigga. Tell his mamma not to cry
because they can clone him quicker than it took his daddy to make him. Niggaz bitin verbatim. Thought provokin records, radio never played dem. Instant quick-grits, new, improved! Hurry, hurry! Rush rush! World on the move. Marijuana illegal but ciggarettes cool. I might LOOK kinda funny but I ain’t no fool. Now if you wanna synthesize I empathize. (Now if you wanna synthesize I empathize.) But if you synthesize I will understand your synthesizer, man.

— Andre 3000

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