diogenes on the auction block

I stepped up to the auction block like, dig, uh huh

I'm the type I'm slave you buy if, uh, you uh, need a new master

I could wrap the blues backwards and around myself

Tied in the front like a karate belt

And high kick the moon out of socket

All my good times was pursued outta pocket

Might step inside and out the pocket

Don't tiptoe 'round devils

Guess that bet's settled, disheveled

Voice scratchin' like wet metals

There's all these selves inside myself

And we rode on, and we rode on

And we rode on, and we rode on

When I was alone

There's all these selves inside myself

And we rode on

When I was alone

Mind mired in diamond fire

The star fed corrupter with the wide arching tractor beam

It's very difficult not reacting to things

Especially the ones that aren't happening

If it all becomes description, why does the problem exist

Political spectrum be Sprite or Sierra Mist, it's disgusting

Robust hustling isn't the answer, but it's all I know

Suddenly wise, enveloped in green screens

Smokescreens and nerve-racked suspicion of a newer song

Afterwards dancing

My hair is curling in anticipation of my own wild gardening

Hot commodity, dada prodigies

You know the answer isn't rapping

You know the answer isn't rapping

You know the answer isn't rapping

But let's listen to another song