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Rise

from UNCON003: Headspace by TH!NK

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lyrics

On the rise, on the mic - tight as a pair of daisy dukes. On reply, to my scribe - they giving me crazy looks, like they ain't amused coz I cannae be fucked with lazy hooks - evoking the infantile like baby books. Dazed, confused, play the fool you'll remain the fool. No disrespect to Rakim, but I've been paid in full and the outcome was a pain so real, I gave back every single penny of the change I took. On the board I play the rook, so straight's the only way I move. Made a route, paved with proof, conveying a blatant truth. Statements shook fakes and crooks, acting hype, clueless looks. Confused, like they tryna solve a black and white rubik's cube. Back to my best, slapping fly text round the back of guys heads like a rolled up Reader's Digest. Need I digress if ya feeling my flex for real like I stress - Th!nk 'pon the rise, just like that guy said...

These are revelations, every statements levitating generations. Sense when the pen's in waiting, set to paper. Forever meditating mental shaman, devil's waiting in the depths, so I stay elevating like an escalator. On the joint you can smell the reefer, tell the speakers gotta mellow meter. Chilled like after half a sack of sensemilla. You – it's like you sense the reaper, stiff as corpses, starched collars, upper lips or rigamortis. Awkward like you're spitting from a table in the morgue kid. Don't mean to be morbid but I don't do this for a mortgage – it's more than that now. Flow like a faucet, never force it - Awww shit – you tapped out? Act out, go pop like the cork on your champagne but when you've got no spirit son, it's time to abstain. Flowing nice, hold a mic cold as ice, ghostly like a poltergeist. Prose is hype, prone to rise like that flame. No smoke without fire, no joke, I'm so dope without kya. Stone cold, I oppose them faux writers, expose liars, nose dive in the flow. Find a crass biter, take him apart in that cypher. Stake to the heart like vampires. No puppet, don't fuck with those damn wires. Prose crushing dopes, something like man's grinder. Span time and space, tryna find my place. Every rhyme I lace expands minds for a greater climb to grace, to define your fate. In each line create shafts of light for ascension to the up above. We forever coming up and you'll never trouble us – we that higher. Fight until the locks are off and oppression's polished off. All the fucking frauds will drop, we forever rise to...

credits

from UNCON003: Headspace, released September 16, 2013

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Unconscious Collective Edinburgh, UK

Independent netlabel and community venture; incorporating art, music and culture. Established in 2010.

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