Everybody has them, Grandmothers or Uncles
They leave you once piece short of completing the puzzle
Might not know blood or who you descend through
Your fed through the morsels that make Brooklyn Soup
I want the truth but it's buried in some movie script
In it the main characters carry switch blades
And sing doo-wop on street corners for scrap change
The facts change, when decided by deciders
Standing victorious over the future
My present, a gift of mystery
Hand me downs, a fifth of history
I'm counted on four fingers until it flips the script on me
And I'm walking my way over the Brooklyn Bridge
All the way to Borough Hall, but I can't get in
Am I buried around some time like 1910?
Or is it predetermined that I not know when
This record keeping is hard to defend
When faced with computers that won't collaborate to no end
From the ceiling to the tile
Thinking back on Brooklyn apartments, it's been a while
Everybody has them, Grandmothers or Uncles
They leave you once piece short of completing the puzzle
Might not know blood or who you descend through
Your fed through the morsels that make Brooklyn Soup
I'm back on a road that leads to HBO
Sleepovers alone, the only channel that comes from the wall like the phone
How could I know that I considered this part of a home?
I heard a shout that Paul got a stereo!
Single speaker boombox
Now every single room rocks
With those women from MARRS
It's these pieces of a man that heal emotional scars
And why I want to feel the genes that are ours
Most of my flashback scenes are in and out of cars
Whether or not the travel's far
We all want to know exactly what we are
Even when we've made our own path to prove exactly who we are
Everybody has them, Grandmothers or Uncles
They leave you once piece short of completing the puzzle
Might not know blood or who you descend through
Your fed through the morsels that make Brooklyn Soup
I might not know much more about where I come from then a tightly coiled telephone wire
That thought I admire
The novelty of the communication
The face bends, at the thought of the beginning, especially if facing
An ending
Without it, without anything more
High ceiling but low floors
So let me start at the apartment
5908 feels great on a lottery ticket, but is the key to much more
The block changed when they took away all the traces
The shock came when they went ahead and knocked down all the places
Now I'm looking at maps from 1954
It's yester-yore, Brooklyn lore
It's sink or soar, row houses where every door is next door
I know the exact place, but no closer to the core
I'm searching, but what for?
Uncommon Nasa - Brooklyn Soup Lyrics
Uncommon Nasa - Brooklyn Soup Lyrics
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Everybody has them, Grandmothers or Uncles
They leave you once piece short of completing the puzzle
Might not know blood or who you descend through
Your fed through the morsels that make Brooklyn Soup
I want the truth but it's buried in some movie script
In it the main characters carry switch blades
And sing doo-wop on street corners for scrap change
The facts change, when decided by deciders
Standing victorious over the future
My present, a gift of mystery
Hand me downs, a fifth of history
I'm counted on four fingers until it flips the script on me
And I'm walking my way over the Brooklyn Bridge
All the way to Borough Hall, but I can't get in
Am I buried around some time like 1910?
Or is it predetermined that I not know when
This record keeping is hard to defend
When faced with computers that won't collaborate to no end
From the ceiling to the tile
Thinking back on Brooklyn apartments, it's been a while
Everybody has them, Grandmothers or Uncles
They leave you once piece short of completing the puzzle
Might not know blood or who you descend through
Your fed through the morsels that make Brooklyn Soup
I'm back on a road that leads to HBO
Sleepovers alone, the only channel that comes from the wall like the phone
How could I know that I considered this part of a home?
I heard a shout that Paul got a stereo!
Single speaker boombox
Now every single room rocks
With those women from MARRS
It's these pieces of a man that heal emotional scars
And why I want to feel the genes that are ours
Most of my flashback scenes are in and out of cars
Whether or not the travel's far
We all want to know exactly what we are
Even when we've made our own path to prove exactly who we are
Everybody has them, Grandmothers or Uncles
They leave you once piece short of completing the puzzle
Might not know blood or who you descend through
Your fed through the morsels that make Brooklyn Soup
I might not know much more about where I come from then a tightly coiled telephone wire
That thought I admire
The novelty of the communication
The face bends, at the thought of the beginning, especially if facing
An ending
Without it, without anything more
High ceiling but low floors
So let me start at the apartment
5908 feels great on a lottery ticket, but is the key to much more
The block changed when they took away all the traces
The shock came when they went ahead and knocked down all the places
Now I'm looking at maps from 1954
It's yester-yore, Brooklyn lore
It's sink or soar, row houses where every door is next door
I know the exact place, but no closer to the core
I'm searching, but what for?
They leave you once piece short of completing the puzzle
Might not know blood or who you descend through
Your fed through the morsels that make Brooklyn Soup
I want the truth but it's buried in some movie script
In it the main characters carry switch blades
And sing doo-wop on street corners for scrap change
The facts change, when decided by deciders
Standing victorious over the future
My present, a gift of mystery
Hand me downs, a fifth of history
I'm counted on four fingers until it flips the script on me
And I'm walking my way over the Brooklyn Bridge
All the way to Borough Hall, but I can't get in
Am I buried around some time like 1910?
Or is it predetermined that I not know when
This record keeping is hard to defend
When faced with computers that won't collaborate to no end
From the ceiling to the tile
Thinking back on Brooklyn apartments, it's been a while
Everybody has them, Grandmothers or Uncles
They leave you once piece short of completing the puzzle
Might not know blood or who you descend through
Your fed through the morsels that make Brooklyn Soup
I'm back on a road that leads to HBO
Sleepovers alone, the only channel that comes from the wall like the phone
How could I know that I considered this part of a home?
I heard a shout that Paul got a stereo!
Single speaker boombox
Now every single room rocks
With those women from MARRS
It's these pieces of a man that heal emotional scars
And why I want to feel the genes that are ours
Most of my flashback scenes are in and out of cars
Whether or not the travel's far
We all want to know exactly what we are
Even when we've made our own path to prove exactly who we are
Everybody has them, Grandmothers or Uncles
They leave you once piece short of completing the puzzle
Might not know blood or who you descend through
Your fed through the morsels that make Brooklyn Soup
I might not know much more about where I come from then a tightly coiled telephone wire
That thought I admire
The novelty of the communication
The face bends, at the thought of the beginning, especially if facing
An ending
Without it, without anything more
High ceiling but low floors
So let me start at the apartment
5908 feels great on a lottery ticket, but is the key to much more
The block changed when they took away all the traces
The shock came when they went ahead and knocked down all the places
Now I'm looking at maps from 1954
It's yester-yore, Brooklyn lore
It's sink or soar, row houses where every door is next door
I know the exact place, but no closer to the core
I'm searching, but what for?
Writer: D. Zunikoff, P. Loverro
Copyright: Lyrics © Songtrust Ave
Copyright: Lyrics © Songtrust Ave