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about

Produced by Brazen

lyrics

the beat drop - i grip it like zip lock
at the practice range i spit glocks in case the militia
gotta step up to displace the police force
i'm bipolar; call me see-saw
rise then i free fall - high; its like i'm riding an eagle
but my eye lids low; its like they crawl on the seafloor
the all seeing eye's in my peephole
and the government is lovin genocidin a people
on the sneak yo, we got our own darfur right here
thats my word. like i coined it
but fuck coins, the fed's poisonous
can't list all the ways they're destroying us
so fuck it, split up a dutch, stuff it, roll it, lick it, light it, and puff it
there's nothin as smooth as moon wit percussion
i bust it like breasts with messages for the public
like PSAs like "please say ney to the club hits
fuck a government, buck a bilderberg with a musket"

in a land where the cops are robbers
and they itch like fiends to pop us
anything to impede our progress
living in these days man

in a land where the politicians
didn't hesitate to give us syphillis
anything to increase their riches
living in these days man

i must be another being. i had another dream
black men chantin where klansmen hung from trees
swing in breeze, it stuck wit me
awaken and then bake cause it's far from what you see
in the streets. fuck them picaninny niggas and shuffling feets
i vent and get in touch with the beat
i want to retrogress like its vintage
arm up with a clinched fist - just like a monkey paw's fifth wish
inhale, sprinkle the air with the spliff's piff
but meditation won't change the legislation
we lost control and we're letting satan
shorty's head was braided
double dutching - let a stray hit her and catch her brain and
for a moment she levitated
days darker than the red she laid in - eleven maybe
twelve, and you tryin to tell me that this ain't a hell we stay in?
but we aim the wrong way, send shells to the ones who made it

in a land where this "white vs. black" shit
is divide and conquer tactics
see, reality is all theatrics
living in these days man

in a land where the media's owned by
three white guys each with their own lies
can't even believe what we see with our own eyes
living in these days man

they tried to hide, but I found 'em
they're underground and enshrouded
behind a cloud of
propaganda and keeping us cowards
a fucked up media balance, fluoride in fountains
and their power's all-reaching so there's no where to seek an asylum
unless its the mountains with tibetans and learning the lessons
or with the aztecs in the jungles and burning the sess, so
i murder each session with a verbalist's weapon
its all a regression
back to the ancestors blessings
my project may address all of common's questions
and jada's while i'm at it on a song with cedric
trust me, that'd be a head trip
somethin like "fear and loathing in vegas"
please, your whole crew's the fakest
your pussy posse is passe don't say shit
get back to the basics
if you ask me these days, kid - rap need a face lift
i'm the surgeon and my mic is the scalpel to save it.

in a land where the superficial
is exalted over substance and soul
project paper clip, the shit's official
living in these days man

in a land where it's all designed to
distract and control your mind too
moon's here to help us rise and climb through
living in these days man

credits

from Moonshine: You Know, For Kids!, released April 20, 2008

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