
Date of issue: 25.04.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Field Of Dreams feat: Paris Wells |
So I guess I gotta… |
Guess I gotta, guess I gotta, guess I gotta… |
Yo, eyo, I spit like an M16, I let them all know they can have it |
That flash of magic, with an imagination to match it |
So catch it, it’s classic, but it will not be contained |
In an industry man made, 'cause it runs through my veins |
It pumps through my brain, through my name, nothing will change |
Don’t make me huff and puff and turn this fucker to flames |
But enough of the games, my shadow is a tidal wave |
My idle, there’s a brighter way, fight for it night and day |
I’ve built fires inspired to keep my hands warm |
I’ve hopped through hurricanes, and step-stepped through sandstorms |
I’ve climbed cliffs, you can see what I’m dreaming |
Even walked on water, just to be here this evening |
So, here we go again, I gotta prove I’m no magician to you |
Rabbit in a hat, rappers that’s clueless how I kick it |
This is blood, sweat and tears, flesh and bone a better way |
A brotherhood of hope, with a megaphone at heavens gate |
Shoot me down, raise my head |
Walk my field of dreams instead |
'Cause there’s no way, you will march on top of me |
Not how this is going to be |
Lift my feet, raise my head |
Love and sweat and tears I’ve bled |
Create the path I see ahead |
(so I guess I gotta…) |
Walk my way instead |
Yeah, check it out, yo |
Well, he’s still kickin' it so beautifully, bet he’s re-writing the odds |
'Cause he knows it’s not the dog in the fight, but the fight in the dog |
See, the kid couldn’t spell for shit but could draw like a photograph |
Fuck a hit, he rather his rhyme on the wall of a poet’s class |
He dicks with a phonograph, caught a flow and wrote the flavour |
That archaeologist, artist’s audio appropriator |
Ghost rider, flaming chopper, carresing the night |
And chasing the glimpse of a forever fading fluorescent horizon |
He just lights up the skies (lights up the skies) while running through this |
circus |
With the heart full of good vibes (heart full of good vibes) that’s pumping |
through his circuits |
Live wire, high flyer, spit fire out his lungs |
Soars a war-torn Mustang, through an empire of the sun |
Catch him diving in his rhythm, rhyme and gliding in his vision |
Manifest music momentos to remind him of his mission |
He just rolls like a bowler, a soldiers forward composure |
With a butterfly net full of dreams hangin' over his shoulder he says. |
Shoot me down, raise my head |
Walk my field of dreams instead |
'Cause there’s no way, you will march on top of me |
Not how this is going to be |
Lift my feet, raise my head |
Love and sweat and tears I’ve bled |
Create the path I see ahead |
(so I guess I gotta…) |
Walk my way instead |
(gotta… so I guess I gotta…) |
Shoot me down, raise my head |
Walk my field of dreams instead |
'Cause there’s no way, you will march on top of me |
Not how this is going to be |
Lift my feet, raise my head |
Love and sweat and tears I’ve bled |
Create the path I see ahead |
(so I guess I gotta…) |
Walk my way instead |
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