| 15 wit one in the head, could did it all
|
| No friends were called, then I recalled
|
| Somethin' smeared on the wall
|
| Close relationships I hated it, we split
|
| Dated this chick, atheist
|
| God stained seven but he played the six
|
| Dated CO’s, left 'em wit bulge
|
| Kept me in clothes, but said I wasn’t respectable
|
| So the sex got cold
|
| Little did I know, I was the next to go
|
| Drivin', starrin' up at the horizon
|
| Flyin', windows down, blastin' the stereo sound
|
| Pass the carnival, the Merry-Go-Round
|
| Goin' up the mountain, to the Indian burial ground
|
| Nothin' but glowin' eyes on the hounds
|
| Sounds of howls, but turnin' the heads of owls
|
| Come thru the white clouds
|
| Look what I found? |
| The psychic
|
| (Hook)
|
| There’s nothing like it
|
| There’s nothing like it
|
| One of a kind his mind
|
| And there’s nothing like it
|
| The last days, signs of the time
|
| I’m on some crime, blind by the television
|
| The hell I vision is rivers of fire
|
| Accordin' to the scriptural writings
|
| There’s no after death for the spirit inside us
|
| The afterlife is those chapters we write
|
| All great place a peace, not that lake full of heat
|
| Could you imagine listenin' to a seven headed dragon?
|
| Grabbin', madmen chewin' their heads off
|
| Less talk, while the communist is stabbin'
|
| Now I think those were metaphors and the letters of Paul
|
| Greece and Rome had Olympics, naked gymnasts
|
| For instance, he would say it, if it related
|
| The race is not given to the swift
|
| But, to them that endure, put on the whole armor
|
| We wrestle not against flesh and blood
|
| He was watchin' the Olympic Games thru a prison wall
|
| So the dragon heads were their empires
|
| Led every word of God be true and every men the liar
|
| (Hook)
|
| I turn listeners to my prisoners
|
| Doin' time on my rhymes
|
| Soon as I hit the pen they get to my channels
|
| Stimulatin' the brain cells
|
| Trained to use well, while writin' I ask myself
|
| How long is the sentence?
|
| Not until each line is finished
|
| Usually the bars end a little past the margin
|
| Tho the court in my thoughts
|
| The DA is the clean page; |
| the judge is a ink spot
|
| Right where I think plots
|
| Below the thinkers is the hung jury
|
| It comes to me, truly
|
| What makes me write this? |
| The feelin' inside
|
| (Hook) |