Salt To Swallow
Posted: Sat Oct 06, 2007 2:51 pm
it's all controversial like calls from empires
the games basketball you always gotta jump higher
michael jordan heights, i take form on mics
I was born to write...now it's torn my life
in pieces...put me at odds with god, fighting jesus
I'm the type to read this and rewrite my thesis
materialistic dreams aint coming to fruition with rhymes schemes different
it seems mystic, my teens distant this is reality
it's like my dreams missed it, my own fallacy
of reality can be seen twisted, in an unseen instant
I gotta revisit my past, to see this shit in fact
back to everything I have written is wack
leaving my wrist in a slash, depresssion
dominos disgression, hidden, my own regression
vision recollections, blood in my eyes soaken
thugs in disguise, guns open, slugs in the sky
quoting my own dope lines, second doses
metaphors on the ropes, my record used as a coaster
in my soul the whole flow is still open to question
how can i not choke in this session
to intelligent, complex, is that bogus? don't I owe me
can I learn from my lessons, micz told me
I look over my shoulders, cold winds chill my neck
am I still the best, will the rest accept if I'm less?
can I progress if I am destined to my desk
am i the best, or I am following my own quest
distorted visions, political, it's all misfortune
if I'm not lyrical, why am I important?
when you read my writtens are you just supporting?
I need skills, not endorsements
I've closed each door since, I've always broke them
hold dearly, everything I've spoken
cuz at any minute, it could be taken away, floating
on the seas, like I lost my potion
writtens of an emcee, stuck in a bottle
covered in water, that's some salt to swallow
the games basketball you always gotta jump higher
michael jordan heights, i take form on mics
I was born to write...now it's torn my life
in pieces...put me at odds with god, fighting jesus
I'm the type to read this and rewrite my thesis
materialistic dreams aint coming to fruition with rhymes schemes different
it seems mystic, my teens distant this is reality
it's like my dreams missed it, my own fallacy
of reality can be seen twisted, in an unseen instant
I gotta revisit my past, to see this shit in fact
back to everything I have written is wack
leaving my wrist in a slash, depresssion
dominos disgression, hidden, my own regression
vision recollections, blood in my eyes soaken
thugs in disguise, guns open, slugs in the sky
quoting my own dope lines, second doses
metaphors on the ropes, my record used as a coaster
in my soul the whole flow is still open to question
how can i not choke in this session
to intelligent, complex, is that bogus? don't I owe me
can I learn from my lessons, micz told me
I look over my shoulders, cold winds chill my neck
am I still the best, will the rest accept if I'm less?
can I progress if I am destined to my desk
am i the best, or I am following my own quest
distorted visions, political, it's all misfortune
if I'm not lyrical, why am I important?
when you read my writtens are you just supporting?
I need skills, not endorsements
I've closed each door since, I've always broke them
hold dearly, everything I've spoken
cuz at any minute, it could be taken away, floating
on the seas, like I lost my potion
writtens of an emcee, stuck in a bottle
covered in water, that's some salt to swallow