Sunday (Feat. Frank Ocean) – Earl Sweatshirt – letras

[Verse 1: Earl Sweatshirt]I know it don’t seem difficult to hit you upBut you not passionate about half the shit that you into, and I ain’t havin’ itAnd we both know that I don’t mean to offend you, I’m just focused todayAnd I don’t know why it’s difficult to admit that I miss youAnd I don’t know why we argue, and I just hope that you listenAnd if I hurt you I’m sorry, the music makes me dismissiveWhen I’m awake I’m just drifting, I’m not complainingIt’s just to say that I stay pretty busy, latelyAnd I could be misbehaving, I just hang with my niggasI’m fuckin’ famous if you forgot, I’m faithfulDespite all what’s in my face and my pocket, and this is painfully honestAnd when I say it I vomit, on cloudy days when I’m saltyI play the hate to the LogicState to state for the profit, it ain’t a stain on me, niggaMy momma raised me a prophet, I play for dollar incentiveAnd where I’m walking, it’s studded, and half-retarded I stumbleTo where she park when she visit, I grab the bottle and chug itI see the car in the distance, I know the dark isn’t comingFor the moment, if I could hold itShe, she seems that[Hook: Earl Sweatshirt]All my dreams got dimmer when I stopped smoking potNightmares got more vivid when I stopped smoking potAnd loving you is a little different, I don’t like you a lotYou see, it seems like[Verse 2: Frank Ocean]I’m coming back I gotta handle businessVanish to my sleeper seat, left you at terminal threeI’ll meet you down at baggage claim in a couple weeks, a fortnightAnd you parade my homecoming, don’t cryYou know I can’t live in any place I visitTo live and die in LAI got my Fleetwood Mac, I could get high every dayBut I’d be sleepy, OCD and paranoid, soGive me Bali beach, no molly, pleasePalm, no marijuana, treesYour hickies on my aorta, and tattoos you could only seeWhen I’m playing surfboarder, put whisky in that salt waterI emptied every canteen just to wear that straight edge varsity you think’s coolThey thought me soft in High School, thank God I’m jaggedForgot you don’t like it rough, I mean he called me a faggotI was just calling his bluffI mean how anal am I gon’ be when I’m aiming my gunAnd why’s his mug all bloody, that was a three on one?Standing ovation at Staples I got my Grammy’s and goldPolka dots on my Brit, I’m not supposed to be stuntingIt’s all melodic this song, I catch this vibe in my sleepBut I’m just jet-lagged is all, and restless[Hook: Frank Ocean]All my dreams got more vivid when I stopped smoking potNightmares got more vivid when I start smoking potLoving you’s a little different I don’t like you a lotI mean…fuck[Outro]I don’t know what we’re aboutWhat good is West Coast weather if you’re bi-polar?If I’mma need this sweater, I’d rather be where it’s coldWhere it snows, I see how it goesI put the flowers in bowls, know they’re coming in drovesYou’ll only miss when it goes(Yeah, I think that’s it)When it goes…