Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bottle of Humans, artist - SOLE.
Date of issue: 21.03.2004
Song language: English
Bottle of Humans |
I’ve been so many places |
In my life and time |
Yes, I’ve sung a lot of songs |
I’ve made some bad rhymes |
Top of the world |
Yet I aint never left my head to turn and look back |
Every second page is anthem |
Perfected writ mood |
In the perfect world I set the perfect mood |
And in perverted abodes, I claim rogue |
Enflame clothes and sing songs of underdepression love |
Chemical imbalanceship, paranoia |
My scientist fiction, I kick space raps that’s down to Earth and |
The kids that get dubs are the only ones that wanna listen |
My words are my world, believe it or not they mean a lot to some |
Can’t say that I’m ahead of time, I fear that my time will never come |
Can’t exist outside the bottle, you’ll crack under pressure |
No aggression, why they’ve got to learn, |
if they don’t things won’t get any better |
Listenin’to God burn objects of animal animating |
in a still life picture of the La Brea tar pit |
Walking the surface of my red carpet |
These are distress signals spanning you and I Inversatile if anyone here’s a soul survivor of a dying civilization |
A galaxy called integrity (In that belt called creativity) |
But it’s not a black corpse, snuffed by a cold world, I keep warm |
By burning dead bodies smelling the beats and never cess |
So, um, you can walk the streets until the building no longer remains |
My people are my people, comrades, and allies, the lines are drawn |
This is my gold tank, everywhere I go don’t belong |
I’m known by most, hated by many, endured by the rest |
Police in dead skin, I’m so East, |
well then why did I end up on the West??? |
Don’t wanna sacrifice my cadence, |
and sentence structure design of my rhymes, etc. |
ANTICON, hip-hop music for the advancement of mankind |
More than an egomanical sarcastic label for a movement |
So when the chain still smells |
like a million dead corpses and kerosene marching |
To burn down the walls of the village and storm the castle, |
run up the damsels |
Take 'em to the river, now we can spawn |
This aint premillenium tension, it’s the result of too much free time, |
On dusty fingers, and it’ll be a wonderful ride |
A million bleeding hearts composing prose in blood |
To live and die a thousand times |
Ever been to Hell? |
This is a black-and-white photo album outlines in increments |
The infrastructure is dead |
Instructed look at the scene of the massacre askin’for forgiveness, |
no beggin' |
No degrading anybody, everybody’s in the alleyway for the Sole cast |
??? |
watch me rip it and mark my words in white chalk |
Gawking at reflections walking in insurrections getting bad ones |
This isn’t spoken word, it’s the reinvention of Sugar Hill |
Right now, your girl is transfixed upon my hips |
And this is Sole, and we’re makin love right now, |
so I don’t need to take her to the hotel |
This is a love song, I pass out roses with the thorns in my flesh |
It’s like these are groupies, I’m a mammal, |
my whole life’s a freestyle set |
The Earth’s an orb in the sky, so nothing gets to my head |
The universe is my A&R, by the time I fall off, I’ll probably dead |
It’s been a long time since those mountain pipe dreams were stuffed in snow |
Now my culture’s pierced, by the greatest accountance I’ve ever known |
It’s nothing personal, hip-hop design has gotten vain, |
So emcees I aint feeling you, if I don’t know your real name |
Hip-hop aint dead, the industry’s just wack, |
and hip-hop is a thoroughfare |
Keep your sights set |
What do you wanna move, rappers, minds or posteriors? |
I’m still a fan, corporate insider, and brain nigga |
It’s springtime we’re the centaurs and people in grass skirts |
This is the verge, the melting point |
When your favorite emcees can’t be lazy anymore |
This is psychopath, this is psych rap |
With violence, violence |
My life is stranded on an island with no food |
and beautiful women feeding my ego or what little is left |
No, this is gangsta rap and my shirt’s unbuttoned |
We’re stealing moments of brilliance in the limelights |
choppin’up keys to break the floodgates |
Maybe this is instrumental hip-hop and I don’t know when to shut up Or maybe this is turntable music, |
scratch the I’s and I’ll scratch yours |
Or what if this is honest music, and I mean every other word I say |
Don’t take anything literal, out-of-context, |
just take it for what it is If you want labels, we can divide, I’ll still be strong |
Bottom line it’s all art (This is a good and a bad song) |