歌曲 | The Inkwell |
歌手 | Blue Scholars |
专辑 | Blue Scholars |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : Geologic | |
Yo, you ever go outside at night, look up into the sky, into the big, immense sky and think to yourself that's a big sky! | |
Like an inkwell | |
In a city that's been waiting to blow since big butts and teen spirit, | |
Many make music. You can hear it secluded in the upper left dominantly grey-shaded sky | |
Every other day, sorta like the bay | |
Just a little bit wetter and cold in the winter | |
Proximity to water make the soul a little gentler | |
Out of towners don't be knowin about the best-kepts | |
Ain't nothing better than the summer in the northwest | |
Microphone check 1-206 | |
Through the smoke, who da smoke, can I get a quick fix | |
To lift this eye to the level of needle in the sky | |
Lookin' over the Sound against the shores of the suicide capital | |
Bust the magical dust, grammatically just the satellite | |
What makes Seattle tight? | |
The fruits have been ripe in spite of all the bull, | |
And last second changes of plans like audibles | |
And prodigal sons, whose motto is run whenever possible | |
Watch Mr. Officer shoot before he aims | |
And claims self-defense in the name of the citizenry | |
SPD's spread the city like an STD | |
I'm rollin' rainier bumpin' 'Let's Get Free' | |
While the people sleep, I must speak till they wake | |
Let me push my pen to create | |
Beats, rhymes and life | |
Each time I write the fire ignites | |
I light the sky | |
There's an infinite inkwell high above the city | |
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody | |
Beats, rhymes and life | |
Each time I write the fire ignites | |
I light the sky | |
There's an infinite inkwell high above the city | |
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody | |
They paved rock candy and put up a parking lot | |
It was a spot for a minute it was hot | |
And then the cops lit it up when the thugs fisticuffs | |
Then the mayor was quick to up and pin it on hip hop | |
Shows got dropped on the cinder block crush | |
What's left of the scene, rose up from the dust | |
It must have been many times overfrustrated | |
To watch the downfall of those who could've made it while | |
Some waited for the next Mixalot to blow | |
Others made moves said ‘shit we ought to grow' but | |
Time moves slow when the clock's overweight | |
Eating those who wait as opposed to create | |
But those who make bread do not break the mold | |
I was only 19 but my rhymes were bold | |
When the things got for real I got up in the fold | |
And put up into practice all that I was told | |
Wicked Dialect came up and showed love | |
We called ourselves ‘Phase' and ironically it was | |
Became the last kid still writing in '95 | |
B-town ciphers with Tale and Justify | |
Moved to the city started posing as a journalist | |
To get press passes and ask kids for prove instead | |
Put down the pen, picked up the mic | |
Aimin' for competitor's heads | |
And when I got done severin several losers | |
Started getting down with hella producers | |
They welcomed me into the big house | |
But they didn't feel the city so they moved back south | |
And other dudes weren't even worth it to work with | |
And if I see one there's about to be a murder word to jah | |
The year two double zero one | |
The struggle just begun to bear fruit | |
At the end of a troubling youth, | |
Sabzi got me to speak over beats | |
Like the key to unlock me, and I'll be damned | |
Ten years to the summer I began I'm still up in the lab | |
And while the people sleep I must speak til they wake | |
Now let me push this pen to create | |
While the people sleep I must speak til they wake | |
Now let me push this pen to create | |
Beats, rhymes and life | |
Each time I write the fire ignites | |
I light the sky | |
There's an infinite inkwell high above the city | |
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody (repeat) |
zuo qu : Geologic | |
Yo, you ever go outside at night, look up into the sky, into the big, immense sky and think to yourself that' s a big sky! | |
Like an inkwell | |
In a city that' s been waiting to blow since big butts and teen spirit, | |
Many make music. You can hear it secluded in the upper left dominantly greyshaded sky | |
Every other day, sorta like the bay | |
Just a little bit wetter and cold in the winter | |
Proximity to water make the soul a little gentler | |
Out of towners don' t be knowin about the bestkepts | |
Ain' t nothing better than the summer in the northwest | |
Microphone check 1206 | |
Through the smoke, who da smoke, can I get a quick fix | |
To lift this eye to the level of needle in the sky | |
Lookin' over the Sound against the shores of the suicide capital | |
Bust the magical dust, grammatically just the satellite | |
What makes Seattle tight? | |
The fruits have been ripe in spite of all the bull, | |
And last second changes of plans like audibles | |
And prodigal sons, whose motto is run whenever possible | |
Watch Mr. Officer shoot before he aims | |
And claims selfdefense in the name of the citizenry | |
SPD' s spread the city like an STD | |
I' m rollin' rainier bumpin' ' Let' s Get Free' | |
While the people sleep, I must speak till they wake | |
Let me push my pen to create | |
Beats, rhymes and life | |
Each time I write the fire ignites | |
I light the sky | |
There' s an infinite inkwell high above the city | |
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody | |
Beats, rhymes and life | |
Each time I write the fire ignites | |
I light the sky | |
There' s an infinite inkwell high above the city | |
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody | |
They paved rock candy and put up a parking lot | |
It was a spot for a minute it was hot | |
And then the cops lit it up when the thugs fisticuffs | |
Then the mayor was quick to up and pin it on hip hop | |
Shows got dropped on the cinder block crush | |
What' s left of the scene, rose up from the dust | |
It must have been many times overfrustrated | |
To watch the downfall of those who could' ve made it while | |
Some waited for the next Mixalot to blow | |
Others made moves said ' shit we ought to grow' but | |
Time moves slow when the clock' s overweight | |
Eating those who wait as opposed to create | |
But those who make bread do not break the mold | |
I was only 19 but my rhymes were bold | |
When the things got for real I got up in the fold | |
And put up into practice all that I was told | |
Wicked Dialect came up and showed love | |
We called ourselves ' Phase' and ironically it was | |
Became the last kid still writing in ' 95 | |
Btown ciphers with Tale and Justify | |
Moved to the city started posing as a journalist | |
To get press passes and ask kids for prove instead | |
Put down the pen, picked up the mic | |
Aimin' for competitor' s heads | |
And when I got done severin several losers | |
Started getting down with hella producers | |
They welcomed me into the big house | |
But they didn' t feel the city so they moved back south | |
And other dudes weren' t even worth it to work with | |
And if I see one there' s about to be a murder word to jah | |
The year two double zero one | |
The struggle just begun to bear fruit | |
At the end of a troubling youth, | |
Sabzi got me to speak over beats | |
Like the key to unlock me, and I' ll be damned | |
Ten years to the summer I began I' m still up in the lab | |
And while the people sleep I must speak til they wake | |
Now let me push this pen to create | |
While the people sleep I must speak til they wake | |
Now let me push this pen to create | |
Beats, rhymes and life | |
Each time I write the fire ignites | |
I light the sky | |
There' s an infinite inkwell high above the city | |
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody repeat |
zuò qǔ : Geologic | |
Yo, you ever go outside at night, look up into the sky, into the big, immense sky and think to yourself that' s a big sky! | |
Like an inkwell | |
In a city that' s been waiting to blow since big butts and teen spirit, | |
Many make music. You can hear it secluded in the upper left dominantly greyshaded sky | |
Every other day, sorta like the bay | |
Just a little bit wetter and cold in the winter | |
Proximity to water make the soul a little gentler | |
Out of towners don' t be knowin about the bestkepts | |
Ain' t nothing better than the summer in the northwest | |
Microphone check 1206 | |
Through the smoke, who da smoke, can I get a quick fix | |
To lift this eye to the level of needle in the sky | |
Lookin' over the Sound against the shores of the suicide capital | |
Bust the magical dust, grammatically just the satellite | |
What makes Seattle tight? | |
The fruits have been ripe in spite of all the bull, | |
And last second changes of plans like audibles | |
And prodigal sons, whose motto is run whenever possible | |
Watch Mr. Officer shoot before he aims | |
And claims selfdefense in the name of the citizenry | |
SPD' s spread the city like an STD | |
I' m rollin' rainier bumpin' ' Let' s Get Free' | |
While the people sleep, I must speak till they wake | |
Let me push my pen to create | |
Beats, rhymes and life | |
Each time I write the fire ignites | |
I light the sky | |
There' s an infinite inkwell high above the city | |
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody | |
Beats, rhymes and life | |
Each time I write the fire ignites | |
I light the sky | |
There' s an infinite inkwell high above the city | |
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody | |
They paved rock candy and put up a parking lot | |
It was a spot for a minute it was hot | |
And then the cops lit it up when the thugs fisticuffs | |
Then the mayor was quick to up and pin it on hip hop | |
Shows got dropped on the cinder block crush | |
What' s left of the scene, rose up from the dust | |
It must have been many times overfrustrated | |
To watch the downfall of those who could' ve made it while | |
Some waited for the next Mixalot to blow | |
Others made moves said ' shit we ought to grow' but | |
Time moves slow when the clock' s overweight | |
Eating those who wait as opposed to create | |
But those who make bread do not break the mold | |
I was only 19 but my rhymes were bold | |
When the things got for real I got up in the fold | |
And put up into practice all that I was told | |
Wicked Dialect came up and showed love | |
We called ourselves ' Phase' and ironically it was | |
Became the last kid still writing in ' 95 | |
Btown ciphers with Tale and Justify | |
Moved to the city started posing as a journalist | |
To get press passes and ask kids for prove instead | |
Put down the pen, picked up the mic | |
Aimin' for competitor' s heads | |
And when I got done severin several losers | |
Started getting down with hella producers | |
They welcomed me into the big house | |
But they didn' t feel the city so they moved back south | |
And other dudes weren' t even worth it to work with | |
And if I see one there' s about to be a murder word to jah | |
The year two double zero one | |
The struggle just begun to bear fruit | |
At the end of a troubling youth, | |
Sabzi got me to speak over beats | |
Like the key to unlock me, and I' ll be damned | |
Ten years to the summer I began I' m still up in the lab | |
And while the people sleep I must speak til they wake | |
Now let me push this pen to create | |
While the people sleep I must speak til they wake | |
Now let me push this pen to create | |
Beats, rhymes and life | |
Each time I write the fire ignites | |
I light the sky | |
There' s an infinite inkwell high above the city | |
Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody repeat |