Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Walk Into The Sun, artist - Organized Konfusion.
Date of issue: 28.10.1991
Song language: English
Walk Into The Sun |
The sun reflects off of the waves at sea |
Rain support roots that implants the tree |
There’s a breeze — in the park, kites fly high |
Under the branches, con-vertibles fly by The sky. |
.blue, fields green |
Paints a picture that creates a scene |
of the destiny that controls my fate |
Reflections of light, creates shapes |
Inside of this particular sphere, I see kids in the street |
When I pass, I go Beep! |
Beep! |
Beep! |
See the black boy over there runnin scared |
His old man runs numbers summers |
Come in and he’ll feel dumb if his son |
doesn’t have a new pair of sneakers |
So he combinates people’s numbers in sequence |
when play straight, but not in the leaders |
Hip-Hop pumps inside of Jeeps and cars |
It’s daytime but we still peep stars |
Parties every night, we gotta move, we gotta go We gotta step, let’s, jet! |
We gotta get away, we gotta do it now |
We gotta walk into the sun! |
Ha hah |
We gotta get away, we gotta do it now |
We gotta walk into the sun! |
We gotta get away, we gotta do it now |
We gotta walk into the sun! |
Ha hah |
We gotta get away, we gotta do it now |
We gotta walk. |
in.to. |
the. |
sun. |
Love and hate, black and white |
Right or wrong, who is right? |
Some smoke joints to annoint their brain |
to the vanishing point, so they won’t go insane |
Mother may I? |
Yes you may |
Take some giant steps, to go out, and play |
I got next, sorry Duke, I got my five |
You better call next, and step to the side |
There’s no specific topic of speech in this rhyme |
I just wanna go on a ride |
on a kaleidoscopic tree, visually. |
.individually, we go our seperate ways |
to get our haircuts and mustaches trimmed |
Rockin a t-shirt, shorts with thick socks |
with my boots that I nickname Tim-ber |
Here comes dayfall |
I can remember when we used to chill and hang |
with Paul, Sea. |
We gotta get away, we gotta do it now |
We gotta walk into the sun! |
Ha hah |
We gotta get away, we gotta do it now |
We gotta walk. |
in.to. |
the. |
sun. |
Sittin on a stoop, while the Johnny-pump shoots |
water while we eat fruits |
The radio pumps, rockin to L.O.N.S. |
and yes |
the girls display flesh by the way they dress |
The Ave surprises, the fulfilling collage |
of scratches that strike like sticky matches |
Attacking techniques with combinating |
Constantly motivating highly elevating the light steps |
When the air gets thick and you can feel the tension |
I bypass Howard, and detour Benson |
Cause I don’t really feel like fencing today |
So I chill in my own dimension and listen to the sax blow. |
. |
flow, abstract the sax always seems to relax you |
But at the same time, it attacks you |
In this particular era of darkness |
Bust a rhyme that might enlighten the mind and spark this |
trail to follow the light that’s guiding you from |
the evil that you walk into the sun |
From what I see it’s an addiction |
I’ll explain to the brain about pain affliction |
Grab my hand, hold it tightly |
Close your eyes and maybe you might see what I see |
Yo, what I said simplistic |
But what I see’s not materialistic |
My hayfever is actin up, so I took a couple of antihistamines |
WHEW! |
I got struck with relief |
Now patiently, I wait for the summer |
Cause the spring brings pollen and that can be a bummer |
A terrific brother was havin a specific get-together by the beach |
Rolling Rock’s, plus Peach Schnapps, served on the rocks |
The Organisms play the boardwalk, pullin numbers from Pros’Peak |
The scenario, where we go pumpin the Alpine stereo |
Hop along the turnpike on our way to the merry-go- |
-round up the herbs at six flags; |
we’re on a mission |
Hittin the streets of New York in zig-zags |
Walkin to the park, hark, the herald, named Erald |
who creates with charts |
Central Park swarms with intellectual dialects |
With the potential, of the city’s best emergency medical techs |
So I dip dip dive |
Listen to the musicians in the park play live |
The Funky Drummer was drummin even though he was a bum |
Some couldn’t comprehend, the vibe that blended |
With the sum, there were some, who wasn’t dumb |
I supported with the hum, dropped five bucks, cause he was the one |
Yo, I gave a clap, I gave a wink, I gave a shout |
I gotta meet the Monch, STRIKE THREE, and I was out! |