Oneonta (by MC Lars)
Now I'm sitting alone, not a stone's throw from the bone show
that I don't seek to star in. Already went too far in
that direction: a goodly chunk of lifespan spent.
Rapped for half of it, hadn't had an epiphany yet.
If I do, its onset's getting attributed to this, though...
sitting by myself in San Luis Obispo,
trying to thumb a ride to the castle keep
where the rich man dwelled with his cash piled steep,
where his crimes wouldn't leap from obscurity to prominence.
Pen a rhyme while I hitchhike, the beat's ominous.
(Why Frontalot maybe don't get picked up:
up in the middle of a lyric, you don't want to interrupt
as you fly past.) Isn't it hologram? Digital?
Cars and trucks are simulated by the quizzical
GPU who wonders why the threads would intermingle:
the roadside and the rhyming, the b-side and the single.