The tenth track on the fourth Felt outing is a reunion of sorts. Slug, Murs, and Ant are joined by vocal features from The Grouch and Aesop Rock, the producers of Felt: A Tribute to Christina Ricci and Felt, Vol. 3: A Tribute to Rosie Perez respectively.
[Chorus: Slug]
And I don't need approval, I'm just tryna keep it movin' 'round
And I don't need to be so immature and juvenile
But I don't give a fuck about what they be hollerin'
If you understand it, put your hand up in the hologram
Don't need approval, I'm just tryna keep it movin' 'round
And I don't need to be so immature and juvenile
But I don't give a fuck about what they be hollerin'
If you understand it, put your hand up in the hologram
[Verse 1: Slug]
I listen to some Prince when I miss Prince
But I haven't worn my purple trench ever since
Under the bridge, I'm tryna get off the grid
Won't even let my kids put my picture up on the fridge
I'm on broken spokes, pokin' holes into ghosts
Tryna open up the show with the appropriate toast
Like, "This goes to those that's this close to closure
Like a disco where the kids go to snort they coke"
And I remember the glow of the ember on the end of
Those old cigarettes we used to smoke
And now we wanna spread love, self-care and growth
But still tryna touch the butt of this American joke
Well, I hope to see you laughin' at the finish line
Instead of lookin' at the big design like, "Give me mine"
And if my plane crash, you can keep the hashtags
Just put a couple stacks in my little man's bag
[Verse 2: Murs]
Still readin' image comic books until I'm skybound
Still in these streets where the PD make you lie down
Yup, in my town, right in the middle of Highland
Ghetto bird, guns drawn, six cars, sirens
Mistaken ID, do I wanna press charges?
Nah, I'm just happy I ain't see the desk sergeant
Hit the store before it close, copped some golden Oreos
Celebrate the close call, y'all know how the story go
Detain the black, deport the brown
Until we dethrone the orange face-ass clown
Double down on these conscious-rapping millionaires
Fightin' for the rights of civilians like they really care
Beware of these turntable turncoats
Lightin' up they blunts while the GOP burn votes
Reminiscin' on when rap was still risky
Ridin' down Crenshaw screamin', "Long live Nipsey"
[Verse 3: The Grouch]
Well, I wanna be felt when you hear Felt
Like Slug's a living legend and that's clear-cut
I wanna be wealthy so I share wealth
Had Pennies for my thoughts when I pulled up, my pants
Used to sag, now I'm dad, I got Bennies for my thoughts
Nieces and nephews still got many more to walk
Many, many more to clock, miles and minutes
Explain your whole world in one stylish sentence
Alright, go, I just did, prose, a little code of honor
Blow your little marijuana, think about your rarest moment
Spirits out for the homies
Flowers for the hour, now your outfit is holy
Uh, you can run on for a long time
Marathon long, long, long, long time
She said, "Just enjoy the present"
I said, "Nah, I wanna make it last forever"
[Verse 4: Aesop Rock]
Lead feather never met a clear victory
Met his share of fishtailing in zero visibility
Fishing for a whisper of symmetry in the dead cells
Press one for the pharmacy, party people, send help
Return address where every step is a suspense film
And sunset is someone else's blood over condensed milk
Shit send chills, center what you got left
Scatter if your shadow is shaped like a Rorschach test
Swamp thing, pond water leaking from the bucket hat
Seaweed over bloated feet, respond to, "What the fuck is that?"
Me, I'm off a mothership that buzz in from another map
Conductor of the upper hand, pluck you off the cul-de-sac
Line drills on the grindstone
Irrefutably on line one, I'll hold
Eye of the coyote trip around the high beams
Yipping at the train yard in and out of lightspeed
[Chorus: Slug]
And I don't need approval, I'm just tryna keep it movin' 'round
And I don't need to be so immature and juvenile
But I don't give a fuck about what they be hollerin'
If you understand it, put your hand up in the hologram
Don't need approval, I'm just tryna keep it movin' 'round
And I don't need to be so immature and juvenile
But I don't give a fuck about what they be hollerin'
If you understand it, put your hand up in the hologram
[Outro: Slug]
Put your hand up in the hologram
Put your hand up in the hologram
Put your hand up in the hologram
Hologram was written by Aesop Rock & The Grouch & Murs & Slug & Ant.
Hologram was produced by Ant.