Baba Brinkman - Art of Seduction lyrics
Won't you please come dance with me; I'll take you to a fantasy Land, and play the Tambourine Man, see That's the meanin' of MC; we take you to the Jamboree Move the crowd, make 'em clap and sing I might hold hands and write poems to romance the beat But I'm just lookin' for my chance to skeet The art of seduction is my lyrical function With just the right pressure applied Plus the subtle suction; mutually a**ured destruction Usually comes from two suicidal sides chasin' the little d**h Makin' the benefits equally distributed; I'm feelin' crazy generous I'm givin' a little bit; you're takin' a little bit And that's the story of the stork makin' a little kid We're not finished yet, though; this is just the intro The slow tyin' of both your wrists to the bed-posts I might let you get close, but I'll never let you slip Over the edge of the precipice, unless you twist Your limbs into pretzel sticks as if possessed; it's just How I get you all ready for the exorcist Writhing in a web of your weaving I'll be begging for some release Either tie me up and torture and tease me Until I'm pleased, or set me free It's the lull that anticipates the next great crescendo The slow hesitation as I penetrate the tempo Inseminate the instrumental with the lingo Disseminate the info to make extra kinfolk And get every listener wetter than a Diplo- Dochus; so get your sweaty hands out your pockets Unless you've got to keep them occupied to get off; it's Nothin' to be ashamed of, a little game of pocket pool A little stimulation of your own personal molecules But what I'm out to do though is save you from your solitude It's really nothin'; that's all you've got to lose It's the rap mad professor takin' back your lack of pleasure And replacin' half-measures with some jackrabbit exercises Surprisin' mattress impact testers ‘Cause every threshold they invent is bad guesswork Sack the fact-checkers for the limits they be makin' up When I'm makin' love there ain't records to break enough Space I'm takin' up vibrates with the drums So I'm a slave to the funk, and you're my co-inhabitant I tried to amputate it but it kept growin' back again You know what happens then: extreme insistence Resistance just seems to increase persistence For instance, I've got the steam for the pistons And if you're listening then you can't keep your distance ‘Cause I'm already makin' deep imprints With my fingertips in your neo-cortex Like a doctor who delivers a fetus with forceps I've got a grip that lets you just reach to vortex As sensory deprivation gets treated with raw s** Or its lyrical equivalent, so here I go, I'm givin' in To every sinful sensation I've ever been tempted with So share a pillow with me in blissful emptiness Writhing in a web of your weaving I'll be begging for some release Either tie me up and torture and tease me Until I'm pleased, or set me free