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dark side poet - 50fifty كلمات الأغنية

dsp… broken things…
ay yo walk with me again, yeah?
come on…

verse 1:
ay yo i walk these streets, a lost soul in the rain
hail & storm & gratefully got a place to rest my cranium
to recharge my brain & my sore feet, have something to eat
then out the door to stalk the streets again
to ponder my owned mentals & return to paper, pen & pencils
scribble down interior battles like architecture stencils
detailed like measurements down to the nanometre
like an optical op, now i’m seeing everything neater
but my shrink was at a loss to fix this
so how the h-ll am i meant to possibly nix this?
i’m just a regular guy
sure it seems like i’m at home on the mic
but when i drop it & exit i’m dropping chuteless from outta the sky
like the coyote, whenever i think that i got it
roadrunner makes like a ghost then drops the anvil on it
see me climbing outta craters just to kiss the tar
once more when speedy gonzales p-ss
scaring the sh-t out me, yeah, life is a fast b-tch
and time waits for no cat; it’s a hot tin roof this
and i’m burning like anakin after obi-wan served him
but i’m lacking a master to graft replacements to burned limbs
so what the h-ll do i do? ya home’s supposed to be safe
but in my heart & mind it feels like i’m being chased
feels like i’m unable to change
like a shapeshifter on the receiving end of a silver knife & silver chains
home is where the heart is, they say
but if i had it my way, i’d just be in the way
yeah, yo

hook (x2):
pen & paper & beats & my brain
50% pleasure, 50% pain, 100% p-ssion, 100% drain

verse 2:
hay yo i walk these streets, a lost soul in the darkness
just to come home, p-ss over the threshold & hear laughter
resonating internally externally serving its purpose
turning me inside out; all my fears & my doubts
falling upon the page like activists upon the cage
sage wisdom left in the cold when ya diet is rage
pop-eye style; were this a cartoon
the anger for my enemy would be enough to see me through
but this is reality back in action with a loony tune
weren’t for the light of the moon this room could be a gloomy tomb
and i ain’t got the cutlery to cut me out this fruity loop
i ain’t got a betty boop to knock some boots to help me to relieve some pressure
all i have is this strain
pencil, pen & paper & this godd-mn brain
and whenever it allows me to write it’s always the same

hook (x2)

- dark side poet

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