half-hearted attempts of somewhat parted hands – gather around what's left after a handshake ends – & a simple mind his sinking – a state of mixed emotions, the effects of hours of drinking – don't care if ur really pretty or just getting to the nitty gritty as long as ur listening – to a beady, greedy, sort o' speedy way of thinking – where minds design rhymes of the divine to climb behind the real & the glistening – fake world of pop-chart listings – it's a margin of divided hearts stepping thru the yard of Hip Hop-art christenings – it's a pale cold stare thru the welfare & fanfare – a devil may care – smile 4 the camera & be elsewhere – pair of honest humble eyes looking at u – got u believin' in lies, bookin' the truth – payin' the price, choosing to loose –
in a world of dead mics & snoozing fools –
so what's the news!? – No there's nothin new! –
I guess Im just a little confused – about what u fools actually think that u do – coming out of nowhere & trippin' into the blue – thinkin' u just grab a mic & be kickin' it too – rippin', flippin' & building a single driven vision of thought provoking truth while travellin' thru a billion lightyears in an instant on a sound that constantly moves – being blessed with the gift to shine a light on these goods – is something not everyone simply knows how to fuckin' pursue – cause there's a trilogy of rhyme design ability, rythm rap flow & delivery – & even if I tried to teach – u would still have no clue – on what to do to be killin' a beat with nothing but a microphone & the voice that's given to u –

& so we run – run – run – run - & so we – & so we run – run – run – run –

thats what I thought – the essential signs of rappin' sport – deported outta the concept like refugees in the western world – as soon as we sorted thru the words he spoke – we made him eat his words & soul – as another dead MC disappears into blow & smoke – cause we both know this is supposed to host a show – outta vocals – a poster of a thousand ninja soldiers fighting in the backyard of a dojo – in slow mo – cause skills never die & dope will never run outta fashion hipster hypocrites coming to ur town like pop show castings – we be laughin' & craftin' styles more frequently than suckers be draftin' them – we're passionate ma friend – always on the hunt for the infinite immaculate path of ravin' rap- shit and – we came to suspend the fabric of dum & wack rap music in this establishment – till the rap fanatics mutiny is dethroning the pop- palace captain for a window mannequin – cause apparently we're all mismanaging the resources we're handling – & therefore mark the generation of the ever partying piece o' crap that lost it all while gambling – except for the magic of the moment we're scrambling – from

& so we run – run – run – run - & so we – & so we run – run – run – run –