Tytuł: Turn around

• Wykonawca: Killah Priest
• Wyświetleń: 256

  
   [Intro: Killah Priest]
  Yeah, uh-huh, back again
  The Priesthood, yeah, brought it
  We up in here now, it's time to eat
  Gotta look at myself, want ya'll to turn around
  Watch this, yo
  
  [Chorus 4X: sample]
  Turn around, every now and then
  I get a little bit lonely
  You're never coming back..
  
  [Killah Priest]
  Alone and thinkin', zonin'
  Then I pick up my ink pen and hold it
  Like the bullet that went in, they blinkin', I'm frozen
  Stuck between time, the pass and the present
  From early adolesence, to fiends that's crashin' and beggin'
  A pad is my blessin' with it, I'm addin' my lessons, so vivid
  Through life, things I've done wrong, and do right
  I had a few nights, of comin' in drunk, fightin' with punks
  At club, writin' to front, stomp it with gloves
  Cats pumpin' they drugs on Ave., I jumped in the cab
  Head to the lab, grab my pen and my pad, feel the wind draft
  Dump the insensce ash inside the hour glass
  Watchin' it slowly slippin' as I drift in the past
  Watchin' the secret sands, remind me the extinction of man
  If we don't unite, I'll think of plans
  The king is a hand, the handwriting's on the wall of the project halls
  In graffiti, written like swahili
  All harmonic, Priest is like a god when he speaks
  Plants his feet on the ground, wore the crown
  All of ya'll turn around, baby
  
  [Chorus 4X w/ ad-libs]
  
  [Killah Priest]
  My verse runs deep like smack through a veteran's vein
  See cats on the train beggin' for change
  Need medicine for they pain, I'm in heavy rain
  Sweat testin' my aim, carve in my bullets with the president's name
  Destined to reign, feel guns bust while cats discuss
  About the gats they bust, and loyalty among employees
  The more weed, the more they mind's stay freed
  The more the nines get squeezed, the more the crime leads
  The more they blind me, push that light far behind me
  I seeked ashanti's and monks in the hills, I dwelled months for real
  No deal, but still hold the steel
  Sometimes I spaz out, pull my pad out
  Then my pad sprouts to a crackhouse, filled with drug dealers
  Some thugs, some killers, my pen's a paintbrush
  Colorin' the old school cats with gangstas
  For every word that I print on paper
  Is like a proverb from a prince in Asia
  
  [Chorus to fade w/ ad-libs]