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Jack Wilson / the Verve - THIS is the BREAKS

from Jack Tar by Jack Wilson

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lyrics

C'mon! you gotta be crazy i'm on it
you made me give praise to a god too iconic
gone are the days we bought it
wide-eyed amazed, afraid to raise a little doubt
like maybe pastor didn't know what he was talking about
like maybe casting calls are plaster when your master calls the shots
so i'm a purga-tortured bastard made of alabaster and snot
puttin' cats on blast like glasnost - half past a monkey's uncle
upright still druggin' our knuckles rockin' a half-tuck and a trucker buckle
unlike the wu-tang clan, this man is somethin' to fuck with
keep on cut copy the come-up while i find new designs to come up with
like what's this? word? you've never heard of the verve
and weren't sure he could murder it,
but heaven's to murgatroid he destroyed it with little encouragement
disturbed nourishment works if it's earnest
to be honest, the perks reverse when you're immersed in the emersion
no one said it was gonna be perfect when jerk went to work with it
he ain't afraid to get his hands dirty with the working stiffs
like only non-commissioned make enlisted listen
pardon the opinion but "you either with us, or you isn't"
this is some combust ignition thrust precision cut for instance
indigenous innards synged indignant from history's ignorance
brace yourself
you're feeling guilty cuz you never wanna face yourself
i mostly lace self-doses of a shell toe diagnosis
overlooking signals tripping down a brick road yellow piss coated
and dismal over-ridden with the sickly in the gutters
we all must bear our crosses, mine just fits me more than others
native zen hippie religion fixed the christian and the bixby within me
and learned how quickly whiskey could turn it all into mince meat
give life the kitchen sink so day to day mine's kinda grimy
time's so tied up that i hired a stunt-double for when suckers try me
i'm holding down my city like wylie with new inventions
like sending true intentions via golden triangle bike messages
or fuzzed out '96 northern soul instrumentals
talked to god through richard ashcroft and he told me not to settle
tapped his phone box back when i rocked hip-hop tapes in the boombox
like i still do but it's iPods and Serrato 'stead of do nots
while the mildew of the sit-still nothing doers drips through sewers oozing
guess you couldn't knock 'em for believing what they're spewing
you could block 'em out your consciousness, but distance is an interesting principle
therefore knowing who you're NOT is pretty simple
i'm on a train of thought toward brain rot make it stop
but take it from the origins of hip-hop if you're gonna bother
i fucks with EpMd AND Zapp and Roger
more to bond thoughts into subtle double entendre 007 homages
that sort of Connery cunning, the artful dodger
snatched your parcel, turned and darted fore you even started running, sonny
your pocket money's been replaced with THIS mixtape
one hell of a relevant sell as well as a piss take
tell 'em all the swellest rappers held aspects of magic
and go listen to my CD if you didn't know you had it
I'm working in the attic where the static crackles cleaner
and the vocals lace the track to break the shackles of of my rap demeanor
cuz either it's ME in-between
or some possessed poetic spirit stealing somebody's dreams
i stopped running from the demons while i'm sleeping,
left me less rested with headaches from the tenstion and a psyche that's uneven
the dead weight started breathing in the deepest corner region
but i'm not another's keeper and i can't afford to feed him
he was feverish and eager so i put him to work
now he monitors the heaven that escapes from my Earth
there's been a myriad of devils that have sworn to be my breatheren
but their horns made me a skeptic, learned to question their intentions
found it better to befriend them since we shared the same irreverence
but i don't know what to do about their never-ending presence
fuck the questions and the constant disappointment in life
all the shit still comes out, if it don't come out right
the beats and rhymes

credits

from Jack Tar, released June 24, 2011
D. Brewer / the Verve

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Jack Wilson Brooklyn, New York

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