AIRMAIL

The lyrics are all mine.
The image was generated using Leonardo.ai.
The voice and music were generated using Suno.com.

Find my original entire book of rap here:
https://www.amazon.com.au/Sales-Pitch-Matthew-Vandenberg/dp/1685830749

Here are the original posts, from 2016:
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/17s3BZntoL/

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AIRMAIL

Ring it up,
'til what's left in store is in the air/
Ring it up,
until we're in store and in the air/
Ring it up,
until what's in store is fucking in the air/
Ring it up,
until we're in store and fucking in the air/

I wanna wake up,
like waves made in v-cunts,
and smell well
female wells
as they well swell,
and cough on me,
and the coffee/
I really mean coffee/
That well isn't a shelf/
If it is, can bitter and draft breath, rather than beer, be on it, for a dizzy spell?/
If this is off it, I shouldn't have to ask, but just tell,
but not like an incel/
At first it doesn't register,
but intel shows Annabelle standing at a register;
out of her shell,
like in a hanger, which I'm hanging out in,
like she's a hanger, who leaves me out hanging/
She's around,
and that's sound,
and all about hanging out,
so can I be in?/
I need a parachute/
She makes me para-mute/
It's hard to make a sale on a plane/
There's no unfurled sail on a coastal plain/
I can't coast through life with her,
if she's already close to a male mate/
It's hard to sell myself,
like my body in a body,
on date after date/
I'll be dead before she screams my name, or babe;
so late/
If receipts could form sails,
lots of dates would be on display/
If I were famous,
it would be way easier to find a date,
but I only get nuts,
in sitting on niche ideas, like they're bulbs, and break;
like peach mothy beach huts of bugs,
coz some little death,
that's la petite mort,
in getting wet,
is dope lust/
Is Olivia so alive and getting off?/
Are ideas to get off with a famous shock jock?,
coz she's got one in me if she wants;
can get on it, and go hard/
Chicks after lust should play my own master cards/
They'll be returned to the plane, anyway,
as babes will come again/
But the only point of sails, and sales, and the point of sale,
is to maybe gather dates together,
coz adding one date to two can make three four times, and floors three times, wetter,
and stay/
If females on a plane are lookin' for males,
there's express mail in the form of female strangers waiting to exhale/
Hashtag #AirFeMail‬/
Women should turn to females,
but that's nothing,
if they're on their own/
It's transformative with no transformation,
so they're nowhere but in their zone/
If 1 breath's morning,
any global breath's timeless,
coz it's from all over an atmospheric globe/
Global travel fills an atmosphere with smoke,
but an atmosphere of breaths fuels an atmosphere of hope/
If I jet-set to London,
and not the U.S.,
it's coz I love accents,
and I don't want no stress/
Will chicks dig me up in there?,
like I don't got no breasts/
I'll pull them so close to me in bed,
we'll feel they're the feelings rising in our chests;
feels/
Pillow talk's when cloud nine's erect/
I want any more clouds to be fine-morning breaths,
after wet women fight for me then clear air/
Rain can be flying in with/from pairs of au pairs from Paris/
They can master the art of taking my breaths away
by swiping my lungs in swiping my heart,
like they're underwear/

******

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