| Herbs and roots
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| Mixtape, white tea and only juice
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| Steam pots simmer under zinc roof
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| Law of the land, live and let die
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| I can’t seem to grasp time
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| Watching death and how it comes in threes
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| Chilli, garlic, ginger, head spinning, lord willing
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| There’s a line, as for me and mine
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| Dark bodies sent to Earth to usher in an unprecedented era
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| Of cosmic regeneration and happiness
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| Mysterious tale
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| The veil’s been lifted are you listening?
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| Crooked scales
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| Written in a gentrified art hotel in the motherland
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| Closing the gap between over and understanding
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| Doubling back when the tangent the papers use
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| Duel of the iron mic
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| Never made the news
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| To be seen and not seen at the same time is a mind fuck
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| Black buck
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| Niggas always wanna be the next white somebody
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| Respect the lineage, feel like I shadowbox with simians
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| All of my feelings I kinda write to
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| No photos please, I got warrants
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| Doran vipers with smiles made for pulling the juks
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| No such thing as a halfway crook be the mantra
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| Conjuring man hold my new flow
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| Totem pole always in cold
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| Don’t try to keep up
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| Let it take you
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| The phrase at the end of the day punctuate damn near everything he say
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| Bitter to the taste somebody’s got to pay, his laugh bray like brass
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| Crafts tales of unlikely escapades
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| Talk like a fool eyes searching your face
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| Knows you think you better
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| Wants you to know you ain’t
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| An even layer burnt cork over the greasepaint
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| You know what comes next
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| You already know the rest
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| You don’t need me to tell
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| You know I need the cheque
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| No respect no respect
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| Propeller hat, jaunty, surely you jest?
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| Yet double back to holler at your aunty
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| Put the work in the bastard
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| Get worked up over these manuscripts like Jack Torrance Shining,
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| you just rhyming
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| I gave them work like everybody do these assignments
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| Valuable silence in that asylum rented in shame
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| They built a monument to the violence
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| Way we play it don’t sound nothing like a violin
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| They got the bomb like uptown in ‘99
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| You can search far and wide for a hill on which to die
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| The rent’s still too damn high
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| Dead bent but still quite spry
|
| They got the bomb like the Spike Lee joint
|
| So no time to waste, get right to the point
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| The roach is never dead
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| That feeling is dread
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| Those that could fled
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| Laid in the coffin like a bed and each child walked up to kiss his bandaged head
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| Still remember something foul my uncle said
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| Yeah, I’mma carry that to the end |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Ecomog , by - Armand Hammer. Song from the album Paraffin, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп