Lyrics of Myer Clarity x Fresh Kils x Uncle Fester – Work With My Hands

I ain’t gotta meet you to teach you
All I got is this knowledge Ima speak thru an EQ, reach you
The product of being bottled up, beat, bruised –
Seen too many people sheepishly weasel beneath you
Told my teachers, can’t teach you unteachables, tell me We through?
I’ma work with my hands, fuck your degrees do?
Shut the fuck up, you think I fuckin don’t see you
Student loan scamming ass piece of shit weirdos
Treat ISRC codes like the G code
I keep those, at reach in the vault, next to the zeros
Self-Dependent but delegates elevated my lead role
I stroll on thin ice while never skating career goals
Smug talkers like to axe me why I’m here tho
And how my lil career going,
sneering thru veneers, told em
Listen once a year somebody swear I helped em keep going
Still at the bank, what’s it been, 10 years Owen?
scared of dirt? Word, I work w my hands
Ask anyone worth any salt who heard me work on my craft
When you heard me first glance. Worthy of awards & the plaques
And if you ain’t heard, them workers is back,
so let em know yo

Past lives whisper edits in my ear
While I read what A&Rs tend to net inside a year
Keep my heads up..
while they flippin’ pennies over here
Ain’t no cents in my career, but still I get up, check the mirror,
cause its what I do
Woke up, my steel tools widdled ’n
Snake oil salesmen got the dream pool glistening
Most y’all here don’t do ya real due diligence
Cause ya way too busy tryna re do dilla joints
I’m still on point, but I’m scatter brained w/ ADD
But still don’t matter when that scatter brain gon ADD up 80 gs
Got receipts and I got my seat, time is money
I make a living off the way my fingers slide your fuckry
Act rite, you far from where ya moms from, children
That Hustle culture fucked y’all like Stockholm syndrome
Fuck a Apple Watch, can’t even afford apple sauce
and I’m just mad that all my apple products breaking down for profit

half of you stand around w hands on your shit staring b
No manual for this Manual dexterity
and you will bet clarity’s handles his craft masterf’lly
your hands finna catch callouses after you shake hands w me
faced w a case of mistaken identity
see this dude think he slick,
when his real names Jeremy
Peel through steel grooves n rail through ligaments
lyrically on a mic strike thru pierce proof filaments
Mixing a trillion hits at my finger tips like I’m Will.I.Am
in the event that my trillium is high as helium
A picture perfect work in progress equivalent to millions
so long as his addiction to precision doesn’t hinder him
They say the devils in the details, stencil him
And in the interim I’ll deliver in on every instrument
I’m in possession of so my finger tips never dull again
Cause Idle fingerss the devils fidget switcher to fiddle with
Middle finger to bureaucrats n they little dicks
Who hate on hand crafted, highly esteemed lyric lists
Sure as the pores on my fingertips warped as Henry Winklers is
I made this shit w my hands so get your mitts on it