At your behest, let me traverse your chest, hills and valleys
See I’m hoping that your sounds will carry
Echoing sentiments on your skin
Please let me in your mind?
Your man is texting…nevermind him
Pay attention to the longing, let it creep in
Putting arches in your body, let me seep in
Like a longing that’s been so long forgotten, an absence so nostalgic like Father’s Love and Mother’s Worry
I’ll play the part with your permission, no need to hurry
-Cesar (Follow on IG: @simply.cez)
The most comfortable prison is habit
where the walls and bars are made of our own reluctance
habitually falling into the rhythm of no substance
where we sing a tune and do a dance that we’ve had enough of
but guess what? we still dance just the same
habitually playing the game
games of politically correct, hive mentality, self defamation…it’s all the same
See I tell a brother “there’s more to you than this”, See I tell a sister “the media set up so you’ll rob yourself of your gifts”
but habit prevents changes
offering pennies for their thoughts just leaves me shortchanged
-Cesar (follow me on IG: @simply.cez)
See I knew you were mine, wasn’t precognition
I already thought you were mine, then it came to fruition
Couldn’t let you waste away with a ute without vision
Saw a little of myself in you, well that’s recognition
These days…them treat love like prescription
Treat yourself a little then move on to the next one
But if you can’t love yourself, how you gon’ love a next one?
Can’t fool the law of attraction
-Cesar (follow me on IG: @simply.cez)
Full sized bed and your one night stand…that never ended
when “jut friends” turns synonymous with just pretending
I’ve become accustomed the the workout but you hoping it’ll workout
I’m not a fuckboy by choice, just a victim of circumstances
You not a fuckgirl by choice, just a victim of bad romances
So I’ll keep being the side thing (contentedly)
She sung a song on slow bass
The rhythm moved and swayed at her behest
She sung a song on a slow bass
The king of groove that made your heart too big for your chest
She sung a song with a high hook
The chorus was a prelude to this moment that inevitably took hold of me
She sung a song that was reminiscent
A sermon if anything, that spoke to past misdemeanors and Ms. Givings
Bless your heart Preacher Man
Stretch your hand Preacher Man
Hand out the fish, give him a dollar
but never really teach a man
Uneducated we keep a man
we tell him to pray to crosses
why the pastor never poor but the congregation is?
Tell the people offer more when you never really give
the camel enter the kingdom but not the rich man
but what if the preacher is the rich one, ain’t that a bitch man?
Choice Life 