from the Joe Cyrus album, Initiation *STLP 2008
Verse 1
Got up this morning
a strange feeling in my stomach
Can't tell if it came
from below or above us.
Something tellin me
that what I'm doing is wrong
runnin at a job
I should be cuttin out songs.
It's like the media
be teaching us to be sheep
Slaving through the week
while our soul's getting beat.
Seems to me
that if the creator did us the favor
of puttin us here
then we shouldn't just labor.
Seems to me
We should blend our own flavor
And for me
it's paintin words across paper.
Since our birth on this earth
we've been taught little worth
little purpose in our current struggle
if it's just work.
I turn to bustle and grind
tryin to hustle these rhymes
muscled out of my job
making puzzles for minds.
Piece a masterpiece
beats, rappin, and sheets
Trade a plastic-ass life
for my freedom of speech.
Chorus 2x
You are robots and drones
a lot like clones
that wack shit you speak
I do not condone
I might stand alone
Call me hot with poems
I might not have a job
but I hold my own
Verse 2
Seekin deeper being
reaping seeds of my speech
Reachin people breathing
evil demons defeat
Equalize my life
through mind body and soul
Visualize and write
bright focus on goals.
Making all the right moves
like I'm turning in circles.
Fall and might bruise
with my ass turning purple.
Saving the planet
the word herbalist standing
Observing the stranded-turned-
phantoms disbanded.
Unite with life
through mics at heights
too high for light
you guys need sight
new vision arisen
through rhythms uplifting
Atlantis' true wisdom
through stanzas I give em.
Monument, monolith, modeling
artisan-ship
Targeting all of the bi-partisanship
Marketing marvels
I'll have you walking on marbles
Rollin, I'm controllin
by my method of dark rule.
Verse 3
Nod to the beat
like you're fuckin robots
Applaud with deceit
like you fuckin know God
Am I wrong
Is it me?
You just nod and agree
but go on
in the sea
thinking luck
will be free
Ughh
It's like you're stuck
in a mud or a freeze
and a breeze couldn't budge
so I'm forced to strike heat
Lightning littered letters
scorching like August steam
Mic cords imbedded
with the likeness
of my screams
Rice, beans, and veggies
feeding medleys I dream.
Pedal past the dead in sheets
of metal scrap heaps.
In mental capacity
I'm actually gravity
Graspin widowed travelers
like merchants
harassing.
Purses bursting
while purpose
remains unearthed
herded persons
contained in the dirt
I don't graze with cattle
and I won't stain my shirt
I remain the crazed magus
Moving mountains on earth.
Chorus 2x
