Lyrics Tide Of Life - CYNE

Tide Of Life

It’s the ichiban player sneakin' up on the avenue
So ante up—we jumpin' snakes eyes, ‘bout to battle you
Hold your hands up.
Heard you back from sabbatical
A player so smooth.
Gimme room while I challenge you
Cise Star never in the day—only evenings
Transparent, dark, move units while you sleeping
Be the overachiever, the human heat-seeker
The tactile style is wild, giving you seizures
Slow motherfuckers, these skilled packs of readers
You’re suing me, but sorry as hell—you're just Zima
Gangsta lean, holding my dreams, hope receiver
So what you mean?
Better redeem or be believer
Crush grooves on soft planets, making it so hard
From Pacific to Atlantic, dammit, we gon' ball
Like sandcastles for rent, bitch, you gon' fall
With the tide, with the tide, with the tide
Huh, tide of life
Automatic static, I’m flowing throughout your phone lines
Connecting the internet, the dialect is so fine
Forever elevators are taking me so high
Inhale and sigh, after reason that I’m so fly
Quick, connect the FireWire—I won’t lie
Gotta write, love to Hell just to get by
Poetic—instead it’s kinetic ‘til I touch minds
Blind, looking for answers until I let my ears find
A certain resonance with the presence of elegant
African elephants roaming the soundscape effortless
Spreading the wisdom that bangs your sound system
Airwaves behave—radiohead jurisdiction
Crush grooves on soft planets, making it so hard
From Pacific to Atlantic, dammit, we gon' ball
Like sandcastles for rent, bitch, you gon' fall
With the tide, with the tide, with the tide
Huh, tide of life
Smoothin' in action, but burning in the afternoon
We keep the mood subtle and bubble—audible follow through
Methodical, the speeds we reaching until we capture you
Grip tighter than death, we sweat at higher altitudes
We never lose to those that don’t get it
Hyper future, speak implanted, and chromed-out sinners livin'
I fear the menace, son.
I talk to dons
My cellphone got a alter-call, it be the, it be the
African mean, fly like a pelican bee
It’s do or die—bare the nine.
Now who want it with he?
The wild African, back with the pen to the pad again
So that’s a wrap for y’all, the phony rap actors
In this game called music—some do abuse it
I reach for utopia—found.
Now I’m losing
No jazz tunes, rap goon—word is my weapon
I’m Kane in his prime, rhymin'.
You half-steppin'
So half-assed, you get gas—them crackers made you
I came from the ground up to brawl—they paid you, fucker
You ain’t never gonna last in this
That’s the every-Chingy-type rapper, posing his bitch
We shitting on y’all.
Why spawn the lyrics or brawl
Knock the wind, not the lame—play Steven Seagal
I’m jackin' your chan.
KO, flow with the wind
My nigga Cise got the Water for Mars and we begin.
Go!