Luyện nghe bài hát Personal Journalist

Sage
Journalist

He left with deep breaths in each that needs less innovating,
Because they're still debating what "rhyme skill" is.
Got Sick of Waiting...for time to get over their murder raps.
Then he sold his own off his back

For cheap exposure. He'd seek for closure but stayed minded.
Always to keep composure peeking over both his eyelids.
vulgar in misleading cultures of ultra-violence.
Teaching others how to be loving through brotherly guidance.

A bleeding soldier knows the science. He does the math and writes
Without to think twice.
Without asking for advice. the scalps peel.
Having brains picked by lice before the scabs heal.

His mask conceals his face paint.
It like a safe place, but it ain't.
Feels like it safety fates, but it don't.
He's not a real saint. Just one of those religious, political jokes.

And that's not even half of the nutshell cats are
to crack open to his blood cells from.
When he comes back hell again,
You'll have a few bones to pick with a skeleton.

Sage
Anti-socialite.
Admirer.
Loaner.
Drifter.
Bootlegger.
Doctor.
Referentialist.
Runner.
Journalist.

Word is the worthless wordsmiths were impersonal twists.
Heard they're concerned with the Earth shift.
These kid games are silly. When all art is anonymous,
He'll turn Big Bang Theory into a Small Pop Hypothesis.

Francis.
Merchant.

son...father to none...

Husband to something and didn't spend his life with who he loved.
The hardest workers in showbiz need no studded glove.
"His is up!" He's still the type poised to make a come back.
Kill the white until the sun's black.
Moonwalk New York City and get murdered by flocks of sheep,
Who square dance circles a box of beats.
The Dream sequences end quick.
find middle ground in little towns on some Midwest trip.
He for something...but fell for every trick in the book, so he stopped believing...
In an garden of Eden.
"Get off the cross!" Of course we need the wood to a Godless heathen.
him red handed...only if his palms are bleeding.

Sage
Non-Prophet.
Intelligent.
Avant Angel Dust Mite.

It's been a pleasure. It's a pleasure

But get out of my weathered with all that sunshine
Get out my face with all that sunshine
Get out my face with all that sunshine
Get out my face.