| These are the motions that the messengers spoke of
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| The makers are the owners, in control of their culture
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| It’s all love and peace—keep your gun and a toaster
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| B-boy, b-girls, move like you’re supposed ta
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| The melodies and harmonies stick to your ribs like
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| Hominy grits in the winter, you dig?
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| I’ll offer what I alter as my life on a bridge
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| My style stay halal, never fuck with the pigs
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| The lesson that you getting isn’t off my rib, and if
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| Shorty reflecting, I’m reborn through my kids
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| The only thing is I don’t want to pass ‘em down my sins
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| Have ‘em have to walk a mile in my Timbs
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| It’s hard to ignore the allure of Shayṭān and his
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| Jinns when your stomach’s on E with no ends
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| So you could consider this the rebirth of the cool, calm
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| And collected—mama didn’t raise no fool. |
| Drop
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| Jewels and golden rules that they left out of school
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| When I dropped out of school, landed in a cesspool, see?
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| All the lies that the teachers tell us
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| All these rhymes about the bullshit the TV sell us
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| We are the lost tribe in the wilderness of the West
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| Stolen from the best part, now they’re scorching the flesh
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| Blood run through the Nile, she too sore to caress
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| Newborns taste the sickness when they sip from a breast
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| Bad food and false knowledge, that’s a lot to digest
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| So I guess that’s we hide our lows and get high
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| Spend what little we got to go out and get fly
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| ‘Cause it’s easier to get high than get by
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| So we try to keep our minds in the sky ‘til we try to supply
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| Valentine, I could do that when I die
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| Sleep is for the weak, and my life been stoned. |
| The North
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| Light, I shine like that’s the prose in the poem
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| A lot of people want to know what trip I’m on, but it’s
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| The Underground Railroad taking us on—come on. |
| A lot of
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| People want to know what trip I’m on, but it’s
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| The Underground Railroad taking us on—come on
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| These are the motions that the messengers spoke of
|
| The makers are the owners, in control of their culture
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| It’s all love and peace—keep your gun and a toaster
|
| B-boy, b-girls, move like you’re supposed ta
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| I’ll move with the music, groove to the basics
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| Bass hits boom in your system. |
| Let’s move like
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| It’s fluent language, change it to spitting
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| Do as the loosest, bang in the whip when
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| You’re cruising, meditate. |
| Let me set it straight:
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| You’re forever fake ‘cause you choose to be stupid
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| I was a criminal, it’s typical shit
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| Pitiful, so I’m losing that mental state
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| Fuck it. |
| There’s no use for it anyway
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| Every day, I’m chasing the dream of paper and cream
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| Bread to break for my team, placed it in a safe, escaped
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| From the scene to a place where my face isn’t seen
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| Away from haters and snakes, I’m changing my fate
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| But running away wasn’t the way. |
| I’m able
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| To see, confront it. |
| Love it or hate it, take it
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| For what it is. |
| It’s crazy, you see? |
| I switched from
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| Guns to hands, ones to grands from
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| Hands to guns, grands back to ones—damn!
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| It’s a trap like maximum, but I
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| Gotta be a man ‘til I’m done in my casket wall
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| These are the motions that the messengers spoke of
|
| The makers are the owners, in control of their culture
|
| It’s all love and peace—keep your gun and a toaster
|
| B-boy, b-girls, move like you’re supposed ta
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| So many asked me how I keep going
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| Keep flowing, keep showing that I’m
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| A forced to be reckoned with, not to be ignored
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| Hated by most, a few do adore
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| Watched downfall, then they saw me
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| Rise to occasion, fix situation
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| Change occupation, become master builder
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| Look at blueprints, redesign nation
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| Come test me? |
| What give ‘em that notion?
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| Foes be clumsy, swing in slow motion
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| Look at ‘em breathing hard as I’m coasting
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| Wanna keep me down in Hell and stay roasting
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| It’s my time for me to make a change
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| I’m not happy, not satisfied
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| How could I be when most my people died?
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| Blacks are confused and eating freedom fries
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| Will we continue to lose our self?
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| Will we ever realize that we are the wealth?
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| When we feel the whole hood, I’m still «For the Kids»
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| If I die alone tomorrow, I’m still dual-lift
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| Patrick Ewing degrees, I’m showing it
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| Nothing’s new under the Sun. |
| What hovers over it?
|
| I’m a slave to the rhythms—for masters, I’m owning it
|
| Merchandising? |
| Owning it. |
| Publishing? |
| Owning it
|
| Percy Carey’s a free man, so I’m patrolling it
|
| Destiny is in my hands, and I’m controlling it
|
| These are the motions that the messengers spoke of
|
| The makers are the owners, in control of their culture
|
| It’s all love and peace—keep your gun and a toaster
|
| B-boy, b-girls, move like you’re supposed ta |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Twin Peaks , by - MF MezSong from the album American Hunger, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп