| Blow out the candles. |
| Tonight I don’t want any light wasted
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| Film Americana fills my mouth but even light doesn’t taste good
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| That’s why MC’s spit out
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| Faced with compensating complacence we turn away to rinse with act still this
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| selfish plague lingers
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| Like twelve years of drum disease
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| Mix black, white, New Orleans, New York and gargle twice daily, drops of art’s
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| saline
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| Everything’s gone blurry
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| What we saw clearly in the womb most won’t know at thirty
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| It’s a Thursday and I sit at home worried of soul hygiene
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| Like nat used all the training Visine
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| Defining literally what to be a mic fiend
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| We smoke away our pipe dreams
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| Yellow teeth decay and fallout, we stay all out, and always, all out,
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| wondering what hell this hole crawled out
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| And touch the sky’s mouth with this thing these songs house
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| We till the earth with dark clouds 'till the earth’s scars heal
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| We resurrect the stars dile
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| Pierce the night with large howls
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| We peace white walls with shit like revolution right now
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| Square off with sons of darkness in night rounds
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| We circle daughters of light wearing bright crowns
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| I’m like, bound to free death
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| Might drown in these breaths
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| Mics crowd and need rest
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| I frown and detest white power and regress to beat laid down for these heads
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| And this mic ain’t going now where
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| Till I bush my teeth where justice leaks and trust my beats to put me down for
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| another night
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| Blow out the candles, and get some rest |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Thursday , by - Youngblood Brass Band. Song from the album center : level : roar, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп