I draw words out of pens like swords out of sheaves
Humidity intervene, now I’m high on God’s speed
Upon the mic, immobilizing globe trotting colonizing
Stomping on the rights of the poor,
The destitute I testify will rise in a matter of
lifetimes
So climb into the mind through the scale or a spine
When hips start slitherin to bass lines it'll
Make the wallflower blossom
Make me feel anonymous and conscious at the same time
I can’t remain calm waiting for repeats or a nuclear
bomb to drop
Find us in a record shop with or without distribution
independent from the bullshit of a major
Remember Monday evening in the record stores at 12?
Midnight to cop the new album off the shelf
Either savin up allowance or your minimum wage
For eight dollars, one tape man, you'll listen for days
I’m missin the days, freewheelin mean-muggin rivals,
For no good reason
Just bein adolescent to breathin, believed in
So far from bleedin that this paradise is hard to
believe in
I’m leaving
To a place dominated by spray-painted dreams that ain’t
what they seem
I’m leaving
To find myself clinging to the edge of a notebook page,
writin for days
I’m leaving
YO I’m going home to atone for abandonin my native
tongue grown
From the soil of my soul that I’ll toil till I’m old
Passin the torch like the mic that I hold
Plowin in the field allowin little time to rest
Fly by night daytime I’m chillin in my nest
Where memory is sending me
An astral projection to way back then
I’m chasin Rakim through the speakers
Reachin for the makeshift microphone
Mark’ll make your mom bark “Turn down the radio,”
complainin about the curse words
Times absurd, the lines got blurred, another kid got
served
And the whole house party bore witness to the occasion
Thus started growing my early reputation
Early 90 second generation fat laces
Used to get hip bruises breakin in the basement
Mixed tape makin was an art that we’d forsaken
And the hardest thing to do was cue the tape
I’m waiting on a Sunday night listening to nastiness,
payin the dues
When KEXP was KCMU, true, I’m missin the days
freewheelin mean-muggin rivals,
For no good reason
Just bein adolescent to breathin, but we've been so far
from bleedin that this paradise is hard to believe in
I’m leaving
To a place dominated by spray-painted dreams that ain’t
what they seem
I’m leaving
To find myself clinging to the edge of a notebook page,
writin for days
I’m leaving
YO I’m going home to atone for abandonin my native
tongue grown
From the soil of my soul that I’ll toil till I’m old
Passin the torch like the mic that I hold
The horticulture’s in the pipe
So torch it with the light unfortunately
it’ll be gone, but not tonight (2x)
I’m leaving
To a place dominated by spray-painted dreams that ain’t
what they seem
I’m leaving
To find myself clinging to the edge of a notebook page,
writin for days
I’m leaving
YO I’m going home to atone for abandonin my native
tongue grown
From the soil of my soul that I’ll toil till I’m old
Passin the torch like the mic that I hold
