When it comes....
it is said...
that we will al be slaves....
until were dead....
its like static..
struggling over frantic.....
fall into somthing democratic...

in the end were all puppets..
but you wont get off calling us muppets....
my style is like a switchblade pocket...
come out of the blue like a rocket...
singing to a spooky tune,
no techno hard shit like lunes.
this is the street wise
hard off the beat
comin from the underground
to the street
better not lose it
trying to keep up with my sheet music
my own virgin skys
my commands make you wanna die
spray in bright day
over what you might say
my words hang in the air like a rotten decay
a solemn cemetery mist
cold breath with a ice kiss
eye in shadows
finds the mutalated cattleufo sightings and footprint findings
are the only clues to what ive been hiding
haunted ghost hills
and black dollar bills
hint what i got hidden in my skills
seeing jesus in the clouds
im higher,i look down on him and feel proud
this sound reaches higher than umpteenth
this slams on hard on a floor of concrete
cracking homes
slinging stones
as i summon up all my clones
control to do my bidding like drones
this sound reaches into your mind
and it slowly melts and warms mine
im in a leash with the hellhound
fire burns my rhyming sounds
i got a hole list of reasons
one named for each season
(distortion)
(the uncontrolable sound)
(distortion)
(flipping your mind inside down)
(distortion)
(slowly letting you fry)
(distortion)
(making god and satan collide):x 4
There are two types of people
ones who look ahead
and ones who talk to the dead