MEASURED

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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MEASURED

I'd love to adopt a measured approach in approaching women,
but I'm never romantically approached, or romantically with, them,
so whenever I see a woman, I mentally measure her mouth,
then get hella tantric with my nose, like it's in the air that her air's an aura around,
then wanna worship her, so fall to the ground,
but then cannot catch what she's saying in the nasal equivalent of surround sound,
so bounce about, in seeking kicks/
And some punch can have a sound kick to it, like there's some ringing;
ring, in a tiny ring/
I write lines in a confined space/
All dates did was do my head in,
so I said: 'Please do head out'/
My dates, of late, are what I only find on sublime cakes/
On this one day I like one babe but cannot communicate with her because her mind's one way: closed, like a store for anyone who won't pay for goods, for good/
Her reflective listening's so not so good/
So, she could be a vampire, and with her head in a pressure-suit's hood/
There was some inflation. Where's the popping?/
Can there ever be any movement of her eustachian tube?/
I'll value her input/
The pleasure she'd get, from erasing walls in the sketch of her discretion, is probably worth being measured/
Sure, I'm in a store, but I've no requirement for storage, coz I never have a date that is my size, and therefore never need attire to be desired/
Women pretend to be sweet, but it's all a lie/
Saying 'I love U' doesn't mean a thing when I'm just like 'Y'?/
Get it? Our shapes are incongruent,
like 'U' and 'I'/
The letter 'I' will never be 'U'/
'I' will never be 'U'/
I'm alone in being a loner/
If some guy were to loan me half his date,
at least my attention would be greatly engaged,
and just her breath would get me stoned/
But even if I smell her eyes,
with each nostril of mine the size of a coiled vagus nerve, or royal Vegas lights at night/
she'll never see into my mind/
I like her/
But I, like her, see through my eyes, like I'm not blind/
And I say 'like', but I really love her, and I'm really not blind, but still don't see her ever seeing me by her side/
So, I may need a little shut-eye, but for now seeing green lights is said to be good for the head/
Call them a HEADLIGHT/
So, being envious of your BFs, in looking green, means I think and I'm alright, right?/
I think I'm alright/
I only wish that chicks in Sydney would cross my lines;
come across my lines/
If I see 2 engaging in insider trading,
are they breathing on each other?/
If I'm already a Sydneysider,
won't I be even more out of shape if I take sides; pick only one lover?/
An optometrist wouldn't want to be seen with me,
like we're below, in having crossed, the red line of a Snellen chart;
tiny, like some memorable plaque;
Snellen chart of bacteria who passed/
I want lasting bad breaths/
Will she fast, or eat fast-food, to get them?/
I just wanna smell her up to her back teeth,
but I know she would get fed up with me,
like there would be some gag reflex/
But if she had a mad feed first,
would she be up to breathe?/