Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 1987, artist - Saul Williams. Album song Amethyst Rock Star, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2000
Record label: American
Song language: English
1987 |
Acid-wash Guess with the leather patches |
Sportin’the white Diadoras with the hoodie that matches |
I’m wearing two Swatches and a small Gucci pouch |
I could have worn the Lugi but I left it in the house |
Now, my niggas Duce and Wayne got gold plates with their names |
With the skyline on it with the box link chain |
I’m wearing my frames |
They match my gear with their tint |
And you know Lagerfields is the scent |
Now, my nigga Rafael just got his jeep out the shop |
Mint green sidekick, custom-made rag top |
Strictly Business is the album that we play |
You’re A Customer; |
the pick of the day |
Now there’s a nigga on the block, never seen him before |
Selling incence and oil, my man thinks that he’s the law |
But why on earth would this be on their agenda? |
As he slowly approaches the window. |
Uh, uh, I’ve seen you before, I’ve been you and more |
I was the one bearing the pitcher of water |
I rent the large upper room |
Furnished with tidings of your doom |
Or pleasure, whichever feathers decree. |
Yo Ralph is he talking to me? |
No I’m talking to the sea son’s resurrected |
I’m the solstice of the day |
I bring news from the blues of the Caspian |
My man laughs, he’s one them crazy motherfuckers |
Turn the music back up — 'cause I’m the E-Double' |
Wait, but but but but I know the volume of the sea |
And sound waves as I will |
Will you allow me to be at your service? |
My man Ralph is nervous. |
He believes |
That this strange tounge deceives |
And maybe he’s been informed that |
He’s pushing gats hidden in the back, beneath the floor mats |
Come on Jack, we don’t have time |
For your bullshit or playin |
A’salaam a something’or another |
Wait isn’t Juanita your mother? |
I told you I know you, now grant me a moment |
At the gates of Atlantis we stand |
Ours is the blood that flowed from the palms of his hands |
on the plow till earth |
till I’m now |
Moon cycles revisited, womb fruit of the sun |
Full moon of occasions wave the wolves where they run |
And they run towards the light casting love on the winds |
As is the science of the aroma of sleeping women |
Lost in his eyes they soon reflect my friend’s are grinning |
But I’m a pupil of his sight |
The wheels are spinning |
Yo I’ll see ya’ll later on tonight |
In the beginning her tears where the long awaited rains |
Of a parched Somali village |
Red dusted children danced shadows |
In the newfound mound of mascara that eclipsed her face |
Reflected in the smogged glass of carlos east street bodega |
Learning to love, she had forgotten to cry |
Seldom hearing the distant thunder in her lovers ambivalent sighs |
He was not honest |
She was not sure |
A great grandmother |
Had sacrificed the family’s clarity for God in the late 1800's |
Nonetheless she had allowed him to mispronounce her name |
Which had eventually led to her misinterpreating her own dreams |
And later doubting them |
But |
The night was young |
She the firstborn daughter of water faced darkness and smiled |
Took mystery as her lover |
And raised light as her child |
Man that shit was wild you should have seen how they ran |
She woke up in an alley with a gun in her hand |
Tupac in lotus form |
Ennis' blood on his hands |
She woke up on a vessel |
The land behind her |
The sun within her |
Water beneath her |
Mushed corn for dinner |
Or was it breakfast |
Her stomach turned as if a compass |
She prayed towards east and lay there breathless |
They threw her overboard for dead |
She swam silently and fled |
Into the blue sea |
La soh fa mi, re do, si The seventh octave |
I don’t mean to confuse you |
Many of us have been taught to sing |
And so we practice scales |
Many of us were born singing |
And thus were born with scales |
Mermaids, cooks, and fieldhands |
Sang a nightsong by the forest |
And the ocean was the chorus |
In Atlantis where they sang |
Those thrown overboard had overheard |
The mystery of the undertow |
And understood that down below |
There would be no more chains |
They surrendered breath and name |
And survived countless as rain |
I’m the weather man |
The clouds say storm is coming |
A white buffalo was born |
Already running |
And if you listen very close |
You’ll hear a humming |
Beneath the surface of our purpose lies |
Rumors of ancient man |
Dressed in cloud face minstrels in the sky |
The moon’s my mammy |
The storm holds my eye |
Dressed in westerlies |
Robed by robes ol’man river knows my name |
And the reason you were born |
Is the reason |
That I came |
Then she looks me in the face |
And her eyes get weak |
Pulse rate descends, hearts rate increase |
Emcees look me in the face and their eyes get weak |
Pulse rates descends hearts rate increase |
It’s like beam me up, Scottie, I control your body |
I’m as deadly as AIDS when it’s time to rock a party |
We all rocked fades, fresh faded in ladidadi — and when we rock the mic |
Ignore the feminine side — we rock the mic |
I presented my feminine side with flowers |
She cut the stems and placed them gently down my throat |
And these two lips might soon eclipse your brightest hopes |