I'm Petty with the Poetry
A dramatic, narrative-driven track capturing a small but deeply human moment: the heartbreak of a broken gas-station soda fountain. Through soulful vocals, dynamic rhythmic delivery, and cinematic production, the song transforms an ordinary frustration into a vivid, emotional story. Layers of melodic instrumentation, subtle beats, and expressive bridges amplify the tension and release of anticipation, disappointment, and fleeting hope. Each verse builds a sense of place and character, while the hook balances melancholy and reflection, turning everyday absurdity into artful storytelling. With attention to sonic detail and dynamic range, this track blurs the line between humor and poignancy, creating a memorable listening experience that is both relatable and dramatically immersive. Genres: cinematic pop-rap, narrative hip-hop, melodic storytelling, dramatic alternative, contemporary R&B, soulful rap.
I'm Petty with the Poetry
A dramatic, narrative-driven track capturing a small but deeply human moment: the heartbreak of a broken gas-station soda fountain. Through soulful vocals, dynamic rhythmic delivery, and cinematic production, the song transforms an ordinary frustration into a vivid, emotional story. Layers of melodic instrumentation, subtle beats, and expressive bridges amplify the tension and release of anticipation, disappointment, and fleeting hope. Each verse builds a sense of place and character, while the hook balances melancholy and reflection, turning everyday absurdity into artful storytelling. With attention to sonic detail and dynamic range, this track blurs the line between humor and poignancy, creating a memorable listening experience that is both relatable and dramatically immersive. Genres: cinematic pop-rap, narrative hip-hop, melodic storytelling, dramatic alternative, contemporary R&B, soulful rap.
Lyrics
(Oh come)
(Oh come, come, come, come, come)
(Come, come)
(Come, come, come, come, come, come, come)
(Come, come)
(Come, come, come, come, come, come, come)
(Come, come)
(Come, come, come, come, come, come, come)
(Come, come)
(Come, come, come, come, come,)
(Yeah)
Yep, yep, yep, we on the aux, Missi on the mic, you know what time, time it is, right?
I talk talk slick and I’m quick quick and I pick this brick when I bail to fit, out of thin air, yeah yeah, shit
word chef chef, left right left, setting in I’m seizing the stairs in death
I don’t cope, I fucking compose, I don’t heal, I fucking reveal
I don’t beg for a seat, I bring it to the table and eat eat eat
and the huh, what, wait, late, great, bait, switch, in, the sentence, late
I make meaning do jumpin jacks and I pay its penance, right on back
say say say say say it again, I’m the said it that edits and then begin
I’m the red ink, red ink, red ink in your head, but I never blink, and I never been read
I’m the mouthful of dread, and I maybe I’m turning this into my head
but I turn I guess into I bet, I put that doubt in a headlock, bet
I’m petty with the poetry, pretty with the pressure
I make a mess look measured, measured at its leisure
Yeah, I’m MISSICs’ Art, I mix it fast
I fix it, flip it, trip it, on task, on purpose, no pass
I make a phrase catch its breath, then I dress it, then it flex
Not nervous, I’m service, I’m worth it, I’m workin’ the text
I don’t sing pretty, I sing true
With a grin and a grip and a bruise that still smooth what it do
I make language take risks, I dare it to choose
Then I twist it, relist it, resist it, come back with the new
I’m a mystic, I mix it
I lift it, I tilt it, I turn that “treasure” into truth when I hit it
Ain’t a guilt trip, it’s a real trip, you feel it, admit it
If the world wanna box me, I fold it and lock it, now watch me unclip it
I been nice, been polite, been “okay,” been “fine,” been “sure”
That starter-pack mask, that polite-little-lie type cure
I’m not sugar-coated comfort, I’m sugar-coated pure
But I’m straight like a razor in a room full of manure
I don’t do soft talk, I do sharp clean
I do “say what you mean” with the mean in between
I do “don’t test me” with a smile that look sweet
Then I step back and let your own words trip up your feet
I’m the huh, what, wait, late, great, bait, switch in the phrase
I’m the quick-quick, slick-slick, hit-stick rhythm I raise
I’m the said-it that edits, then credits what’s real
I’m the red ink in your head when the lie don’t conceal
So yeah, I’m MISSICs’ Art, I mix it fast
I fix it, flip it, trip it, and I make it all last
oh do do do do do do