Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Edie Brikell, artist - DJ Vadim. Album song USSR: The Art of Listening, in the genre Date of issue: 22.09.2002
Record label: Ninja Tune
Song language: English
Edie Brikell |
| I feel that most of you soldiers are flimsy |
| How the hell did you get over as an emcee? |
| Now the dialogue injectors they simply |
| And I respect those that hold it against me |
| Paid rules and made rules to break rules |
| Stayed cool amongst tools and fake fools |
| Gave jewels to use from cradle to grade school |
| To the grave and still wade through these pools of |
| I love you when I hate you |
| And the turntable keeps on turnin' and turnin' |
| Nothing can fuck with the way it goes around |
| First off focus, figure out why you wrote it |
| What’s the motive, what you use to grow it |
| Where you trying to go with it? |
| Do the people want it, do they need it? |
| Or would they rather that you keep it? |
| Is the party now poppin', or at least a couple of heads noddin'? |
| Does the pass or fail depend on whether or not a check’s gotten? |
| Is it the laughter, the love, the hope? |
| Is it the aspiration to make other rappers think you’re dope? |
| Is it the fans, the adoration of devils and angels? |
| The hunger, you want more than left over egg-roll |
| Shit, I made a video, I ain’t even got cable |
| So if you ain’t down with what we do you better lay low |
| My future’s made of play dough, past is made of stone |
| Virgo playboy Slug is done building a home |
| And it lead me to believe the 3D that I breathe |
| Through the TV and the CD be the need to grit the teeth |
| A 20-something wasteland, here comes the out of place space man |
| Spread the wingspan, staring at the ocean like it was a woman |
| Hoping that she’ll let me run my toes through her pink sand |
| Now here I sit in this cellar |
| Writing my interpretations of Helter Skelter |
| It goes 1 part hustler, 2 parts good guy |
| Sounds like it should, but the shit doesn’t look right |
| Took my hook and pierced your skin, so now when I say jump |
| You say when, when I say now all of y’all say where |
| When I say Atmos, you say phere |
| You know me, but just the me I let you see |
| The me you need to so you could set yourself free |
| You’ll have to fuck Slug up to shut Slug up |
| But for now baby close your mouth and lift your butt up |
| I used to play the back of the club in study mode |
| Placing bets on who would leave the set with a bloody nose |
| (Headshots) Headshots used to talk a lot of shit |
| Used to walk alot of shit, the pretrial of accomplishment |
| Before I knew that this network existed |
| Just another baggy pants sweat-shirted misfit |
| The pilot sticker bombed spell it right S-L-U-G |
| Don’t get it wrong, that shit’s my life |
| And I’m thankful for the angles, the lessons I’ve learned |
| I’m happy as hell for how the carousel turned |
| Smilin' at the angel that stole my sperm |
| Cuz now maybe the legend can outlive the germ |
| And the turntable keeps on turnin' and turnin' |
| Nothing can fuck with the way it goes around |
| And the turntable keeps on turnin' and turnin' |
| Nothing can fuck with Edie Brikell |