Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Trilogy, artist - Jehst. Album song The Return of the Drifter, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 02.04.2011
Record label: YNR
Song language: English
The Trilogy |
| This saga will be spoken in three parts |
| Startin' from the moment this tree sparks |
| Opponents get broken like weak hearts |
| Step into my theme park |
| The beast can’t fuck with my karma |
| Any drama’s confined to these speech marks |
| Margins and paragraphs |
| Bastard tried to sabotage |
| But can’t see past the camouflage |
| Pay-phone chameleon |
| My tone disappears into thin air |
| My skin relfects light like I’m not there |
| I cotch where the skyline’s ashtray gray |
| But shine amber |
| And always stay cloaked below the wide angle spy camera |
| Mind tangle by the tight ganja |
| My words rep the downtrodden like a strike banner |
| Analog data |
| Know me as the codebreaker |
| Smoked out playing poker with the lone ranger |
| Puttin' LSD in your salt shaker |
| And if it’s in bad taste |
| Well fuck it |
| That’s my own flavour |
| The stone-age beat maker |
| I’m huntin' for drums |
| Runnin' my toungue |
| Along the gum on this free paper |
| Another young-freak of nature |
| Dirty faced crate-raider |
| Buy now pay later for my open mic night capers |
| Alternatively taste the fire |
| Of these fibre-tipped lightsabers |
| Any time wasters taken by the tie-breaker |
| You’re better off skydivin' off a skyscraper |
| (Ricochet) |
| Props to Edmonton |
| I’m bringin' the light like Thomas Edison |
| Swingin' like pocket-watches and pendulums |
| Big-up the felon-them and fuck coppers |
| I’m half-a-millenium ahead of them fools like Buck Rogers |
| So wicked |
| Like my villainous mum |
| Attila the Hun |
| Would’ve paid anyone a million |
| For killin' her son |
| I bring oblivion |
| With street adlib |
| I’m tearin' through a braire and a crew like cheap fabric |
| It’s like a trilogy |
| We link often |
| Devisin' ways of takin' out these emcees |
| Before they blink — pop 'em |
| My blank papers |
| I put ink on 'em |
| Then I’ll be spittin' writtens so sick |
| Shit my shrink’s got 'em |
| Certain pricks will be hurtin' if Ric’s lurking |
| I’m a sick person |
| Stick-up kid like Dick Turpin |
| And I’m controllin' your soul like I was opium |
| And vocally |
| Blowin' up shows spittin' petroleum |
| Sparkin' half a gram |
| Dark and I’m rather prang |
| My crew travels in four-packs |
| Tighter than lager cans |
| 'Cos I’m the fattest ever marga-man |
| I’ve got the darkest fans |
| Who start arms in the parks after jams |
| Now I’m part of the fam' my plan’s simple |
| Spit a murderous verse and rip like Van Winkle |
| Pass me the resin |
| And I’ll flip the script so far up it’s own arse |
| I’ll leave the startin' part as the ending |
| (Tommy Evans) |
| Beneath the underdog |
| Fightin' the fatcats |
| Cloaked by London fog |
| Writin' in fat caps |
| I’m soused in my toilet cubicle thoughts |
| The conductor |
| Constructs a musical score |
| My beautiful courts are suitable for |
| All sorts |
| I stand tall |
| Does that mean I won’t fall short? |
| I think not |
| That’s the reason why I drink lots |
| My shrink shot |
| I see demons in the Ink blots |
| As the sphinx plots my purpose |
| I stay civil |
| Trying to decipher the meaning of a riddles |
| The mixed signals |
| A bit fickle |
| Femme fatale |
| Smash egos as they’re a bit brittle |
| A ginnels by twilight |
| I adjust my eyesight |
| My life’s finite |
| Rewind and watch the highlights |
| A man born with implanted memories |
| Fell void |
| Can’t test |
| 'Cos I lack empathy |
| Chased relentlessly |
| By a force from hell |
| Caressed by a touch of evil like Orson Welles |
| Film Noir third man and dwell in the cursed land |
| This is my truth |
| I’m tellin' it first hand |
| (The trilogy will be heard) |