Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Stay Human (All The Freaky People), artist - Michael Franti.
Date of issue: 14.05.2001
Song language: English
Stay Human (All The Freaky People) |
Starvation is the creation of the devil, a rebel |
I’m bringin' food to the people like a widow |
bringin' flowers to a grave in the middle |
of the city isolation is a riddle |
to be surrounded by a million other people |
but to feel alone like a tree in a desert |
dried up like the skin of a lizard |
but full of colour like the spots of a leopard |
drum and bass pull me in like a shepherd |
scratch my itch like a needle on a record |
full of life like a man gone to Mecca |
sky high like an eagle up soaring |
I speak low but I’m like a lion roaring |
baritone like a Robeson recordin' |
I’m givin' thanks for bein' human every morning |
(chorus) |
Because the streets are alive with the sound of Boom Bap |
can I hear it once again |
Boom Bap tell your neighbour tell afriend |
every box gotta right to be bomin' |
because the streets are alive with the sound of Boom Bap |
can I hear it once again |
Boom Bap tell your neighbour tell a friend |
Every flower got a right to be boomin' |
Be resistant |
the negativity we keep it at a distance |
call for backup and I’ll give you some assistance |
like a lifesaver deep in the ocean |
stay afloat here upon the funky motion |
rock and roll upon the waves of the season |
hold your breath and your underwater breathin' |
To be rhymin' without a real reason |
is to claim but not to practice a religon |
if television is the drug of the nation |
satellite is immaculate reception |
beaming in they can look and they can listen |
so you see don’t believe in the system |
to legalize you or give you your freedom |
you want rights ask em', they’ll read em' |
but every flower got a right to be bloomin' |
stay human |
(chorus) |
All the freaky people make the beauty of the world |
You see Y2K ya know is a moment |
in time we find that we can open |
up a heart that’s locked or been broken |
by the pain of words not spoken |
or shot by guns a still smokin' |
Cartwrights out on the Ponderosa |
or drive by bang in Testarossa |
we need to heed the words of Dalai Lama |
or at least the words of yo mama |
take a mental trip to the Bahamas |
steam your body in a stereo sauna, sauna, comma |
(chorus) |