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lyrics

conscious kinda crooked, shoulders sorta sore
the holder of all the keys who still be knocking at the door
the molder of all the mud in a puddle of all the rain
controller of what to come and beholden to every claim
a force to be reckoned with the exception of any drama
intense to a detriment, probably got it from my mama
expected to be the best in my own method of reppin'
since the only competition was me, was there any question?
name a hip-hopper ain't shit talking, it's in the manual
the trigger's in the mind and the bullet is in the mandible
pull it back like a hammer and fire from every synapse
in a rat-tat-tatted fashion, both accurate and with passion
- I know flipping skills ain't contrary to getting bills
but beyond the barrier lies the chance to head for the hills
'nuff lead in the pencil, a metaphor for potential
the rhythm's a game of Connect Four in the mental
the rain is an eraser, the brain the only tracer
explain the hideaway that I'm seeking in a cerveza
in a secret oasis, a bangin' beat from the basement
you'd rather sleep on the genius, we both proceed to be wasted
I guarantee I'ma make it, in fact I made it already
a penne bolognese, the rest are just a plate of spaghetti
nah, ain't afraid to be simple & conversational
a ripple in the consciousness displays each others' thoughts are relational
like target practice for a marksman who's a Marxist
the connection is the message, expression is the catharsis
I got bars, miss! started with a bar kiss
took me to the parking lot, fucked me in her car & dipped
listening to 'do it in the road' by the Beatles
as she drove away speeding, "yelling that was what I needed!"
I dedicate this last 16 to the Black Sheep
not the 90's rappers - well, the 90's rappers, actually
plus for those of us who've gotta muscle through the crowd
never really fitting in, but never finding a way out
so you're the type to sit and watch the whole thing play out
but after a while, you're like "I've got something to say now"
you stand up and get knocked back - it happens
the trick's to follow that with planned attack, not just reaction
"inhale deep like the words of my breath
I never sleep, cuz sleep is the cousin of death"
since I learned from the best, I'm trying to further the steps
there's gotta be more than just clowns, crooks, and murderers left
the foundation's been cemented, every word I've written, meant it
hasn't been better intended since the language was invented
threatening a bender from July to December
if I die, just remember, that his inner-eye was centered.

credits

from ALBEDO, released April 8, 2016
beat by All These Fingers
lyrics by Jack Wilson

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Jack Wilson Brooklyn, New York

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