This is about bronies. They communicate by stomping.
Sun set and sun rise is my own personal light show.
Flipping switches...moving from basin bottoms to plateaus.
The Earth...manipulates itself beneath me.
I stand still...stagnate. Can't kill...this lagged state.
Life...manipulates itself around me,
but I'm dead still.
Upright...
but dead still.
Word is still born...I will not stoop to the level of the stoop that y'all chill on
If the building's boarded up and the children of the corn-
er Liquor Store don't want to kick it no more...
because holes have filled the wall, sneakers are scuffed & toes have become sore.
I saw y'all walk from the hood of tough luck.
Yeah, if these walls could talk they wouldn't shut the fuck up.
Jump in your pick up truck. Drive from the mountain range.
Cash the chips in on your shoulder, cut your losses, die young, count the change.
How strange...you think these clouds look lovely?
Smoke signals...manipulate themselves above me.
No symbols...are below me enough to overlook.
I know you read my every move, I wrote the book.
Mind not the blemishes that are on my premise. Endlessness is my "to be continued..."
Notice the nervousness in my footnotes when being interviewed,
shaking uncontrollably. "How you doing?" "Not bad...how about you?"
Brought it right back to me like "What've you been up to?"
I DON'T TALK TO FREAKS. I even ignore my neighbors who live down the stairs.
I WALK THE STREETS. And they don't know that I'm famous in 2000 years,
So I say shit loud in their ears and I spit a wretched verse in their face...
Disrespecting their personal space.
In a split second, curtains and drapes get closed.
They think they've shut me out, but I can see their ugly mouth in the shape of "O"s.
I'd break their windows with a stone that has a note attatched
that says "I hate Jim Crow, and here's a poem to let you know the haps:"
"I've got a golden axe and I chop cherry trees down.
Dead to this world. Bury me now."
I am from a distant place that sits and waits for my belated time to come
but its too late I've missed my fate. I "F" with the deaf, blind and dumb.
My father taught me one thing...how to fire a gun.
I don't bother...this is survival for fun.
I have become the most sinister sin city clicker
cynical dim witted trixter
critical shit grinning hipster
Whisper...to my earhole...tell me not to be fearful.
Be careful
not to make any...sudden...movements.
Show me your sole...I like to study shoe prints.
You've stepped to me before! I can recognize them stubby toes!
I left them guys with bloody clothes. For a second time...nobody knows
The pain I've seen. Nobody knows the pain I've seen. Nobody knows why I've got a bloody nose or how they made it bleed.
Chorus:
Climb trees...go out on a limb/
to find me...forget about him/
Forget about hymns...what are those psalms that you sing/
What are those songs that are in your head echoing...
I am not here to make a change. I break chains. I break dance moves and move Strange.
Strange Famous is infamous for inflammatory mission statements.
Living in basements with subterranean secret service agents.
With little patience. A pediatrician who hate kids.
Women's lib is getting choked to death by their own baby bibs.
Lady, did you know I love women who hate mankind?
I talk about it all the damn time....keep it comin' HUH!!!
"IIIIIIIII HHHHAAAAAAAATE MEEEEEEEENNNNN"
This conversation is mine. I own all the stock in boring small talk,
And I've trade marked this facial expression called "gawk."
So fuck off. I dis functions souped by ninjas and hockey fights,
While discussion groups infringe upon my copyrights.
All them bitches want me tonight...I've been so great and respectful.
They only get salty when I bend them into the shape of a pretzel.
I make them flexible when I break their schedule. It only got hard...
When I asked 'em politely not to fight me and to give up...God
Damn...this is easier than I thought it would be.
They'll attend any party and not fight it as long as they're invited cordially.
Unfortunately, I've only got so many hundred openings.
But talk to me, I want to take you all under my broken wings.
Who's the right man for the job?!
Put up your hands y'all because I'm not tall enough to stand up to God.
Who's the right woman?! Throw up one hand...and wave it now
Flipping switches...moving from basin bottoms to plateaus.
The Earth...manipulates itself beneath me.
I stand still...stagnate. Can't kill...this lagged state.
Life...manipulates itself around me,
but I'm dead still.
Upright...
but dead still.
Word is still born...I will not stoop to the level of the stoop that y'all chill on
If the building's boarded up and the children of the corn-
er Liquor Store don't want to kick it no more...
because holes have filled the wall, sneakers are scuffed & toes have become sore.
I saw y'all walk from the hood of tough luck.
Yeah, if these walls could talk they wouldn't shut the fuck up.
Jump in your pick up truck. Drive from the mountain range.
Cash the chips in on your shoulder, cut your losses, die young, count the change.
How strange...you think these clouds look lovely?
Smoke signals...manipulate themselves above me.
No symbols...are below me enough to overlook.
I know you read my every move, I wrote the book.
Mind not the blemishes that are on my premise. Endlessness is my "to be continued..."
Notice the nervousness in my footnotes when being interviewed,
shaking uncontrollably. "How you doing?" "Not bad...how about you?"
Brought it right back to me like "What've you been up to?"
I DON'T TALK TO FREAKS. I even ignore my neighbors who live down the stairs.
I WALK THE STREETS. And they don't know that I'm famous in 2000 years,
So I say shit loud in their ears and I spit a wretched verse in their face...
Disrespecting their personal space.
In a split second, curtains and drapes get closed.
They think they've shut me out, but I can see their ugly mouth in the shape of "O"s.
I'd break their windows with a stone that has a note attatched
that says "I hate Jim Crow, and here's a poem to let you know the haps:"
"I've got a golden axe and I chop cherry trees down.
Dead to this world. Bury me now."
I am from a distant place that sits and waits for my belated time to come
but its too late I've missed my fate. I "F" with the deaf, blind and dumb.
My father taught me one thing...how to fire a gun.
I don't bother...this is survival for fun.
I have become the most sinister sin city clicker
cynical dim witted trixter
critical shit grinning hipster
Whisper...to my earhole...tell me not to be fearful.
Be careful
not to make any...sudden...movements.
Show me your sole...I like to study shoe prints.
You've stepped to me before! I can recognize them stubby toes!
I left them guys with bloody clothes. For a second time...nobody knows
The pain I've seen. Nobody knows the pain I've seen. Nobody knows why I've got a bloody nose or how they made it bleed.
Chorus:
Climb trees...go out on a limb/
to find me...forget about him/
Forget about hymns...what are those psalms that you sing/
What are those songs that are in your head echoing...
I am not here to make a change. I break chains. I break dance moves and move Strange.
Strange Famous is infamous for inflammatory mission statements.
Living in basements with subterranean secret service agents.
With little patience. A pediatrician who hate kids.
Women's lib is getting choked to death by their own baby bibs.
Lady, did you know I love women who hate mankind?
I talk about it all the damn time....keep it comin' HUH!!!
"IIIIIIIII HHHHAAAAAAAATE MEEEEEEEENNNNN"
This conversation is mine. I own all the stock in boring small talk,
And I've trade marked this facial expression called "gawk."
So fuck off. I dis functions souped by ninjas and hockey fights,
While discussion groups infringe upon my copyrights.
All them bitches want me tonight...I've been so great and respectful.
They only get salty when I bend them into the shape of a pretzel.
I make them flexible when I break their schedule. It only got hard...
When I asked 'em politely not to fight me and to give up...God
Damn...this is easier than I thought it would be.
They'll attend any party and not fight it as long as they're invited cordially.
Unfortunately, I've only got so many hundred openings.
But talk to me, I want to take you all under my broken wings.
Who's the right man for the job?!
Put up your hands y'all because I'm not tall enough to stand up to God.
Who's the right woman?! Throw up one hand...and wave it now
Lyrics submitted by exact
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The anit-christ or a demon is on a soul searching mission. It kind of reminds me of the book "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S Lewis. Good read by the way. Genius song by Sage Francis aka Strange Famous. You have to be able to listen to grasp the concepts of Sage's lyrics. SO SHUT UP AND LISTEN!!!!! J.J MiC