|
[Intro : Killah Priest] |
|
I just zone out When I'm Writing |
|
Yo |
|
[Killah Priest] |
|
The ***** is lit |
|
It's given like an Indian gift |
|
Passed around in a cipher |
|
'til the ******* need pullin' tighter |
|
Put out the fire |
|
Blow out clouds of stress |
|
Now's the test |
|
Who's the first to talk crazy? |
|
You cough, maybe the ***** is still in your lungs |
|
You beat ya chest 'til that feelin' will come |
|
You high, viewin' a cipher behind your own eyes |
|
Sayin' stupid *******t, but to others you wise |
|
Me, on the other hand I zone |
|
Find a little spot to myself |
|
'til I feel I'm alone |
|
Talk to angels with black wings, silver halos |
|
Build with Gabriel the Messenger |
|
I'm Hugh Hefner, with long robes |
|
In a porn show, women with pretty toes |
|
The dizziest ho's |
|
Then I turn romantic, write in sanscript |
|
I put on my vision that I see inside my pen |
|
Black-out is When I'm Writing |
|
[Hook x2 : Killah Priest] |
|
When I'm Writing |
|
Flows go through me right into my pen |
|
When I'm Writing |
|
It's the artist within |
|
When I'm Writing |
|
I'm in tune with the Solomon books |
|
When I'm Writing |
|
It's more than just a song and a hook |
|
[Killah Priest] |
|
My pen's a crayon |
|
With coloring books, displayin' chaos |
|
The black seyance, with the ink pores radared |
|
Age quasars explorin' where the mind caves are |
|
A riches being dug from a keys graveyard |
|
It's the inscription written on Egyptian clay jar |
|
I write rhymes like I'm doing time |
|
Listen, when I hit the pen I start doing the sickest |
|
I got the flow locked behind each bar |
|
And if I get too wild |
|
You can throw me in the box of ya car, it's not that far |
|
My pen's an airbrush, thrown over ya favorite sweater |
|
My notebook's leather, I write with a feather |
|
My pages look like a Renaissance painting |
|
Visions of St. John's conquerin' Satan |
|
All made from my imagination |
|
It's Priest, Lord, the Bishop of Vikings |
|
When I'm Writing |
|
[Hook x2] |
|
[Killah Priest] |
|
The way that I write, it's like a painting |
|
I put on aprons |
|
And brush my ink pen across the palette |
|
Stare at the projects |
|
'til I see somethin', then write about it |
|
My pad's a canvas, filled with anthems |
|
And words from the black panthers |
|
To crack scramblers, to crack gamblers |
|
To gat handlers, to cats in handcuffs |
|
Doin' life |
|
I lock myself in a room and I write |
|
Rhymes I could do a life-time |
|
When everything's relaxed |
|
And I'm in my right mind |
|
I sit still for months like a monk |
|
'til Buddha bless me and grant me |
|
With the wishes that I want |
|
I want a thesaurus with clairvoyants |
|
I rhyme for the enjoyment, my mind voyages |
|
Ever since the day that man evolved |
|
Scrapin' white chalk on candy walls |
|
From the Stone Age of neanderthals |
|
I've been writing |
|
[Hook x2] |
