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I guess we move on in essence.


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Remember the last September evenings

Dukes fought it out in conversation without meaning.

A hopeless trivial dilema set straight in motion

Marinate in wisdom and as for charisma, I be soaking.

Those euporhic moments induced by the chamber

A quart of buddha busts it harder than my behaviour

And imma enslave ya, till the time gets testing

Cough it up wimp, and get ready to confessing.

Yet all this chit-chat and white noise and all that

Is like my calico and life, I'll change and repack

Too quick to speak back on a fat track of smack.

It's what you're speaking, but not what you're made of,

Time moves slower than usual, and then we wave off.

Courses of life, split ends, chrome benz, loss of friends

Loss of track without them but on my own I'm a better man.

I guess we all move along in the presence of an essence

To all my brothers doing time, set straight and then sentenced.

Edited by Coat.
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This is like a fat rap track, full of something with more substance than anything. I read it and to me it feels like it's about a consequence, or perhaps an altercation which revolves around something to do with words, that, in this day and age can cause problems alone. I get an image of somebody in prison, chained up. There's more of a street vibe to this piece of work, as opposed to your more esoteric, articulate form from before. Not that it's a bad thing. I like the style of this.

 

 

Remember the last September evenings

Dukes fought it out in conversation without meaning.

A hopeless trivial dilema set straight in motion

Marinate in wisdom and as for charisma, I be soaking.

Those euporhic moments induced by the chamber. I'm thinking of a gun-chamber and a prison-chamber here. I'm not sure if it was deliberate or not.

 

A quart of buddha busts it harder than my behaviour. Some sort of drug, I assume, maybe. Like drugs power this kind of society.

 

And imma enslave ya, till the time gets testing

Cough it up wimp, and get ready to confessing.

Yet all this chit-chat and white noise and all that

Is like my calico and life, I'll change and repack

Too quick to speak back on a fat track of smack.

It's what you're speaking, but not what you're made of,

Time moves slower than usual, and then we wave off.

Courses of life, split ends, chrome benz, loss of friends

Loss of track without them but on my own I'm a better man.

I guess we all move along in the presence of an essence

To all my brothers doing time, set straight and then sentenced.

 

It's hard to put this down to anything. I get the feeling of a life once lived, maybe as a gangster or somebody within a world where drugs and community with people was rife, but fizzled out when tragedy, drugs, or prison struck. I'm not sure, but like always it's top quality.

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