Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Words, artist - Emanon. Album song The Waiting Room, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 07.03.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Dirty Science
Song language: English
The Words |
Call me the rapscallion |
A rogue rhyme sayer single-handed battalion |
Thoroughbred pedigree like black stallion |
The pale horse coudn’t come close to pose a challenge |
And rappers pale in comparision to my styling |
I’m dropping knowledge while they narrow minds popping violence |
I listen for truth, all I hear is a calm silence |
I’m looking for proof, all I see is my mom’s smiling |
Beaming proud cause I stopped buggin' and wilding |
Every man is an island — |
— I stand alone like the cheese |
Everyman is connected separated by six degrees |
Walk the path of enlightenment down the road on we ease |
By inches the gaps squeeze approching our destinies |
Breathe out in a cycle that we share with the trees |
And sway aimless like branch catch the rhythm of breeze |
Always going but never knowing where fate may lead |
Listen to my elders remember to take they head |
Even when you smile meanwhile somebody else bleeds |
And rose gardens get infected by weeds. |
Never admire desires over necessities |
I take time, to balance out all of my wants and needs |
Keeping time, I tap my left hand on my knee |
And with my right I write a style that’s free. |
Running away from yesterday |
Time is passing and I can not stay |
Bless the children is what I say |
I write the words and give them away |
I was borned educated, I escaled to a |
Style that’s elevated. |
Above the average |
Suckas who never made it — still trying to show out |
But never paraded, it’s kind of faded |
The way they stay jaded — from really knowing what’s goin' on |
It’s like they stuck up upon the same song |
I aim strong, above my goals because I know |
That gravity is pulling me back down on the floor |
So I prepare my presentation just before I deliver |
Pull another verbal arrow up out of my quiver |
Yo, I’m a precious piece of the history |
People are still trying to figure out the mystery |
Ancient like the streets of Sicily |
I got the itch to be a high speed pitch fastball swing and a miss |
Blacker than the abyss, and good for ya like a fat bowl of grits |
I commandeer the mic and I spits |
Shooting verbal knowledge at little kids |
I use my voice box instead of boxing with fists |
But square up on a square when I’m pissed — So where’s the list |
The class is in session but weak niggas is dismissed |
Go on back to the lab and practice |
Counting my blessings on the lessons that I’ve been streesing |
Louging with essence guessing I’ve chosen the right profession |
Get up and motivate to the spot and I’m rolling late |
But anyway that’s how we play out in the golden state |
Big up my man he shakes my hand I pat him on the back |
The salutation met with traditional wise crack |
After the laughts we get to business for the afternoon |
Reach in my bag and grab the CD packed full of tunes |
Turn up the bass boost so we could feel the subs boom |
Walls shaking feel like the earthquaking in the room |
Make a selection choose the dopest of the dopest |
For the rhymes session beats got to keep lyrics in focus |
And vice versa, creating aural inertia |
Moving forces with a purpose like fluid sounds to immerse ya |