Released: June 1, 2003
Featuring: The Orphanage Illogic Slug Aesop Rock Eyedea
Songwriter: Eyedea Blueprint Aesop Rock Slug Illogic
Producer: Blueprint
[Verse 1: Illogic]
Open a window and close the air vents
And if you're lucky than you'll miss the glass and crack your neck on the blacktop
Time mad foolery invaded rap stock
While I bury words in soil, reaping cash crop
You had a laughingstock and I'll lead you to the slaughter
An example of how to treat men if I ever have a daughter
Puff after puff, exhale after inhale
Rush after rush, re-up after next sale
And that's my life and at times I'm probably dreaming
Cause this race is a figure-eight, no deviation from weaving
Webs are worse for heads with precision of arachnids
I'm a mattress, I'm stroking my pen just for practice
Night after night, spawns visit my bedroom
To confirm the fact that the roses would be dead soon
Surface intestinal fortitude with a red spoon
And damned to the evening as the moon is fed bloom
[Verse 2: Slug]
Yo the circle keeps me laughing loud
About how the clitoris within your disposition is projected outward
Got a crowd of mother figures, got a lot of love to give ya
As I sift through the under-nourished gift
"Welcome to the show, Sir, no Sir, no guest list
Unless your girl is down to wash my hair and make me breakfast"
As reckless as it smells, it's a long way from Hell
And there it is until I run out of thoughts to sell
Fell from a tornado of fire
The perpendicular lung collapsed from trying to inflate the tire
The robots go nuts when on the donuts they roll
They can't handle the speed, money, slow down Slug
All around the globe I hear the whisper of the pussy-whipped
Might be more than content just to sit and look at it
Born from Atmosphere, raised on Prince
If life was a snare, y'all would flinch
[Verse 3: Aesop Rock]
I bully duck-walkers
Whose waddling with a following an inconspicuous scumbag bitch images
Sort-of sons society of similars who can't tell the country folk from the villagers
"They all got guns and jerk to the same pin-up girls"
I've found from now on out to kid who only put out what you haven't slathered in capital fat thought bubble
It's like when I cuddle in the crease
It takes more than a fanbase to mandate the bliss disperse and earn the peace
I can feel it
I know that stiff industry wallow while they got you riding dirtbikes on some "I want my two dollars" shit
Pressure, at least until justice is served
I'mma bust the straight and narrow till the motherfucker curves
Circle with nostalgia ?? crooked on the way out
I'll be the king-style following writing off violently cocked-back to painting a beautiful picture like Mr. Adolf Hitler sucking cock for crack
[Verse 4: Blueprint]
Life is living in a prison, where?
Daylight just a vision, it's cold in here
Spending time in the hole, made to listen to screams of other MC's
Caged in rhythm, slaves to rhythm
For my favoritism, oh my plagiarism
So I close my eyes, hoping to find escapism
And fade away from the games played at least for a moment
But dreams of my opponents that I notice
While my dilated eyes focus
Slide into my lab after my eye closes
Like locusts
Leaving even quicker than they came
Abandoning my field of dreams for a bigger name
With all my strength I'm defending my flickering fame
Adrenaline allows me to ignore the feeling of pain
And front like I'm winning the game
Yes, adrenaline allows me to ignore the feeling of pain
And front like I'm winning the game
[Verse 5: Eyedea]
Desperately searching for a pattern in the puke-green stains
That indicate the amount of miles remaining on this tour
Eyes occasionally bouncing back to the radio clock
Keeping track of the minutes swallowed as we speed the shore
I can't seem to wrap my mind around any kind of of order
The signs randomly pop up giving 20 miles left, 8 miles left
I imagine when I once stepped on it
Now it stays ahead of me, planting the signs secretly leading me to death
Oh, Jesus hidden Christ in a lunchbox
I really am schizophrenic, a friend once told me he could see it in my handwriting
My whole life I told readers it's just because the road was too bumpy
And the bulb above my head didn't give off enough lighting
So why am I still on this highway, accelerating, striving for a home
Knowing there's no end to this street?
I should stop driving right now and just sit here
Cause when it stops what I actually did will be obsolete
Open a window and close the air vents
And if you're lucky than you'll miss the glass and crack your neck on the blacktop
Time mad foolery invaded rap stock
While I bury words in soil, reaping cash crop
You had a laughingstock and I'll lead you to the slaughter
An example of how to treat men if I ever have a daughter
Puff after puff, exhale after inhale
Rush after rush, re-up after next sale
And that's my life and at times I'm probably dreaming
Cause this race is a figure-eight, no deviation from weaving
Webs are worse for heads with precision of arachnids
I'm a mattress, I'm stroking my pen just for practice
Night after night, spawns visit my bedroom
To confirm the fact that the roses would be dead soon
Surface intestinal fortitude with a red spoon
And damned to the evening as the moon is fed bloom
[Verse 2: Slug]
Yo the circle keeps me laughing loud
About how the clitoris within your disposition is projected outward
Got a crowd of mother figures, got a lot of love to give ya
As I sift through the under-nourished gift
"Welcome to the show, Sir, no Sir, no guest list
Unless your girl is down to wash my hair and make me breakfast"
As reckless as it smells, it's a long way from Hell
And there it is until I run out of thoughts to sell
Fell from a tornado of fire
The perpendicular lung collapsed from trying to inflate the tire
The robots go nuts when on the donuts they roll
They can't handle the speed, money, slow down Slug
All around the globe I hear the whisper of the pussy-whipped
Might be more than content just to sit and look at it
Born from Atmosphere, raised on Prince
If life was a snare, y'all would flinch
[Verse 3: Aesop Rock]
I bully duck-walkers
Whose waddling with a following an inconspicuous scumbag bitch images
Sort-of sons society of similars who can't tell the country folk from the villagers
"They all got guns and jerk to the same pin-up girls"
I've found from now on out to kid who only put out what you haven't slathered in capital fat thought bubble
It's like when I cuddle in the crease
It takes more than a fanbase to mandate the bliss disperse and earn the peace
I can feel it
I know that stiff industry wallow while they got you riding dirtbikes on some "I want my two dollars" shit
Pressure, at least until justice is served
I'mma bust the straight and narrow till the motherfucker curves
Circle with nostalgia ?? crooked on the way out
I'll be the king-style following writing off violently cocked-back to painting a beautiful picture like Mr. Adolf Hitler sucking cock for crack
[Verse 4: Blueprint]
Life is living in a prison, where?
Daylight just a vision, it's cold in here
Spending time in the hole, made to listen to screams of other MC's
Caged in rhythm, slaves to rhythm
For my favoritism, oh my plagiarism
So I close my eyes, hoping to find escapism
And fade away from the games played at least for a moment
But dreams of my opponents that I notice
While my dilated eyes focus
Slide into my lab after my eye closes
Like locusts
Leaving even quicker than they came
Abandoning my field of dreams for a bigger name
With all my strength I'm defending my flickering fame
Adrenaline allows me to ignore the feeling of pain
And front like I'm winning the game
Yes, adrenaline allows me to ignore the feeling of pain
And front like I'm winning the game
[Verse 5: Eyedea]
Desperately searching for a pattern in the puke-green stains
That indicate the amount of miles remaining on this tour
Eyes occasionally bouncing back to the radio clock
Keeping track of the minutes swallowed as we speed the shore
I can't seem to wrap my mind around any kind of of order
The signs randomly pop up giving 20 miles left, 8 miles left
I imagine when I once stepped on it
Now it stays ahead of me, planting the signs secretly leading me to death
Oh, Jesus hidden Christ in a lunchbox
I really am schizophrenic, a friend once told me he could see it in my handwriting
My whole life I told readers it's just because the road was too bumpy
And the bulb above my head didn't give off enough lighting
So why am I still on this highway, accelerating, striving for a home
Knowing there's no end to this street?
I should stop driving right now and just sit here
Cause when it stops what I actually did will be obsolete
From the album
- The Weightroom (2003)