Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Birthright, artist - Illogic. Album song Celestial Clockwork, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 12.04.2004
Record label: Illogic
Song language: English
Birthright |
Today has been an obstacle to overcome |
The polyrhythmic numb sips statistics |
Liquidated over the dry ice to come |
Some are truth combined with lies |
Equal six million ways to die |
And only two reasons not to choose one |
The gruesome brilliance |
Gripping on to the lifeline of the mic-line |
Floodgates open to obscure mind lashing |
And plane of exist crashing into this |
Everlasting black market |
As the grains of time run out of room to fill |
I consume the buds that bloom with skill |
Then cast the rest on flower beds |
Keepin' 'em warm with this blanket of language |
Givin' pillows of thoughts to lay they heads |
Redundant like season changes, the cycle’s clear |
When my ego has landed after fall |
I want spring to randomly appear |
And the sky to rotate, so the North Star is in the East |
With tapestry constellation sheets |
Sized so a diamond-studded supernova can’t compete |
I’m tired of being discreet with crews |
So I sink to a dreamscape with all-out war |
Where they use my handprint as tattoos |
My birth certificate reads |
«One of the illest incarnated, and this baby |
On this day, 18th day of nineteen-hundred and eighty |
Before walking, plucked the sword from stone |
Held in left hand, hoisted over shoulder |
Awaiting to grow in to my throne» |
Hold my hand and accompany Ill to the edge of demise |
But the saner in conjunction |
For a vanity holocaust so die |
Mannequins stand lost on felt-tips |
Eyes cry ink of many hues |
Payment of dues is behind schedule |
Yet you’re laundry’s impeccable |
Skeletons stand neatly in closets veiled by velvet drapery |
Broken spirit of the storm capsizes ships and rapes the sea |
Well I sit and study |
With dim-lit desk lamp and favorite mug |
Sipping hazelnut chai but with bare feet on bearskin rug |
Watching the sitting fan |
Inspiring me to rotate irony |
Like nuns trapped in purgatory |
Walking in circles of piety |
Raising ladles of lamb’s blood to their lips |
And allowing its thickness to purify this |
Land of derelicts |
It would be best if you desist |
Sprint into the foxhole; |
you’re not whole |
No matter, kicks the spiritual things I rock soles/souls? |
Floating in glass houses, tossing boulders |
The weight of the hate caught you off guard |
And collapsed your shoulders |
Fragmented pieces of human shrapnel lay across this field of battle |
Life gives you a one-way ticket to a herd of cattle |
And free passes for grazing |
In the passions of conformity |
Dormant as I attempt to topple these columns of supporting normalcy |
You choose to dwell in a time capsule of yesteryear |
Clearly locked in place with combination on fingertips of fear |
My birth certificate reads |
«One of the illest incarnated, and this baby |
On this day, 18th day of nineteen-hundred and eighty |
Before walkin', plucked the sword from stone |
Held in left hand, hoisted over shoulder |
Awaiting to grow in to my throne» |