[Intro] Ladies and gentlemen Friends Frenemies And critics Tonight A tale of training Or More precisely Of its absence [Verse 1 – Broadway Patter] I possess a vast deficiency in formal codification Of diatonic hierarchies and pitch classification My “Do Re Mi” is more “uh… la la… something Sure?” Yet somehow I extract a tune Then iterate some more By humming into handheld telephonic apparatus I circumvent curricula Solfeggio And the campus I simply shriek in key (ish) Then refine the aberrations Till the waveform looks agreeable in graphic representations [Chorus – Big Showtune] I don’t know my mixolydian from my elbow That’s alright I just sing the thing that’s in my brain at 3 a.m. at night I stack the sounds like puzzle pieces Building floor by floor If I can hum it I can strum it Then I double Triple Quadruple Till it’s bigger than before [Verse 2 – Pop Romántico Flair] Te confieso Mi teoría Cabe justa en una servilleta gris Sólo escucho tu respiración Y el metrónomo escondido en tu latir Tarareo cada curva de tu nombre Como si fuera un verso celestial Luego visto esa melodía Con cuerdas Coros Drama emocional [Chorus] [Verse 3 – Hip-Hop Cadence] Never had a teacher Had a cheap laptop Had a busted pair of earbuds Still I wouldn’t stop Put the voice memo on Let the brain drip raw Every off-key idea That’s a diamond in the flaw I be mapping every pattern that my heartbeat plays Turn a shower freestyle to a chart one day I don’t label every interval I label every take Stack a hundred little layers till the walls all shake [Bridge – Southern Gothic Drawl] Out where the river runs muddy and slow There’s a hymn in the holler only crickets know I catch it in my throat Low lantern glow Just a half-sung line on a rusted phone Then the banjo creeps in Organ moans Bass walks barefoot on old gravestones I didn’t study those spectral chords I just followed that chill down my backbone [Verse 4 – Christian Uplift] Choir in my kitchen Pots and pans for bells I’m praising with a playlist built from happy accidents and fails I don’t name the seventh raised I just raise my hands in air If the harmony feels holy That’s sufficient nomenclature for this prayer Layer altos over tenors Let the flawed become a choir Every cracked and crooked note becomes another tongue of fire [Verse 5 – Phonk House Pulse] Late night Screen glow Grid lines Kick thumps Sample of my own voice chopped into little lumps Pitch it down Smear it out Let it haunt the floor Turn my nervous inner monologue to something they’ll encore I’m arranging my anxieties in four-on-the-floor design Quantized introspection over bass that snakes the spine Didn’t pass an entrance exam Didn’t cite the canon’s names Yet the neighbors learn my chorus through the paper-thin walls of shame [Verse 6 – Yodel Interlude] On a hillside of hesitation Where the confidence is thin I release a tiny yelp of doubt And let the echo spin [light yodel] Yo-de-lay Yo-de-lay That’s my vocal calibration Every flip between the registers’s a crude orchestration [Pre-Chorus – Multi-Genre Mash] From the chapel to the club From the bayou to the Alps I just chase the little motif Till it finally gives itself Pop romántico caress Hip-hop swagger Gospel swell Southern stories Haunted kick drums Mountain cry that cracks the shell [Chorus] [Finale – Rapid Patter & Ensemble] So here’s my sole methodology Simple yet grand I excavate a humming from the static of my
0/500