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Because I do believe in folklores, because a folk or a |
[00:26.797] |
folk whore messed up his world |
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with a word or more |
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so furthermore call her life |
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with a slice of love for the |
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wife the hip hop drop top |
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so drop her top and her bottom 4 lines to make love to her |
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vibes jus 1 more time |
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and in the morning make love |
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pressed against her lips so when i woke the mic replaced her finger tips |
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sippin up a few sips more |
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so wen she spoke beats hit the floor |
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and wen the tears splashed synthesized cries for the emcees who died |
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word to paradox emotion took off like flies |
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so please forgive the long soliloquy |
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forgive the silly mannerisms here to over power me |
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to give these silly little rants with these silly little |
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rapper hands |
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jaws drop wen i caught her by a glance |
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to get in line for my chance |
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as impossible it seems |
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I still asked her for the last dance |
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we bowed out in the night sky |
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when tears dried wen i told her it would be alright |
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we made rhythm for the vision |
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we tucked in the curses for the verses |
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and rehearsed a different version |
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so we can create the sounds of a virgin |
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yet to be touched and yet we all know shes never |
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heard enuf |
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Shes only seen in my dreams in between |
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every scene in my bed sheet |
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pretty feet and foot notes |
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help remember what i wrote |
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so when i awoke with a new song |
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in reality she helps 2 sing along |
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shes never seen only heard |
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through headphones alone |
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over |
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over saturated party zones |
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or even speaker phones |
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or on the t.v. misrepresented now by them or we, |
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we turned her out, no doubt we turn her up |
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turn it off when we don't agree with her new song soft |
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with her touch to my vision and my rough for the ruff draft |
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I kiss her sound touch her mic for the craft |
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she made it possible for us to dwell in the same room |
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and look pass differences that we still resume |
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so never press pause for the cause |
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cuz wen the music plays it distracts me to have a good day |
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i continue to let her disrobe |
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recount the first time her sound waves passed through my ear lobe |
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rememberin the first time |
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wen she let the beat drop to tell |
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me yes you "quote" the world is mine |
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her birth is unknown |
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un-natural clones grown in her place to try to taker her throne |
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but we the underground lost or found |
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whether money made or respect gained will never let her get away |
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pieces ripped from her by the ones who passed away |
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and their mics buried under tones |
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and rip rib Lip to producers still bangin beats under grave stones yo f them ringtones |