Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Smoke, artist - Quakers. Date of issue: 26.03.2012
Song language: English
Smoke |
| It’s the basement dwelling virgin on the verge of murking those |
| Who try to rearrange my station, so be staying on your toes |
| For a swift kiss of death, I section out the mic |
| With the scepter in my sight from the microphone stand |
| It’s all part of commanding the plan |
| Rearranging the pages and making a name for yourself |
| In the age of information we’re naked and aimless |
| Abel and Cain, yet we’re strangers |
| See a brother make it and hate 'em |
| Well I’m taking off everything I earn yet you yearn |
| With the yeast in your chest, deceased |
| With the breath I’m blessed |
| Vocal cords so the mic don’t stress |
| I take a load off the shoulders of the 1−2 check |
| I’m positive, for skill and the will to consider |
| I’m rocking gigs from LA to LA |
| But get me on a telegram and I’ll knock a city in the next day |
| I think for — ah shit |
| I think forward like a mortician |
| The more victims I get the more my sickness is a business |
| Cause I’m a victim of my words, I feel your hurt |
| I feel your pain when you get slain by my intoxicated brain |
| I’m speaking from a chamber of bane |
| Where they pray that my last ounce of sanity remains |
| They branded me depraved |
| These verses run hearses through my veins |
| Leaving splinters in the chamber of age |
| This ain’t a big move man, I rap in fidgets |
| Any more than that is nothing short of sort of cataclysmic |
| I’m the mystic, mister lifted and gifted |
| I’m sifting my path graphic you know I’m flipping my digits |
| Getting with it, granted I knew my scripture was written |
| Like pictures of kids looking in twenty years when they miss it |
| The bunny ears are encrypted in prime alliance |
| Feeling my vital signs, making sure raw talent was still alive |
| You feel the vibe, I’m trying to press it |
| You still decide that the majority is morphing into a killer tribe |
| Still you be chill, ridden to find a iller guy |
| Crime and violent heights while he’s talking down at a bitter sky |
| My God’s fried, Twitter that to your inner eye |
| Went from crying sinning to twenty year old Gemini |
| You see the birds stay home, I make the winter fly |
| South for the summers and LA has gotta recognize |
| Los Angeles is hotter than the surface |
| Of the bastard ass son leaving home for the campus |
| Busting rhythms that make you rupture your pancreas |
| Your man must enlighten those who writing the bad juxtapose |
| Close your eyes cause you’ll be biting the damn dust |