skech185 & analog(ue) tape dispenser - earthworm him (theme song) lyrics
them crowds don’t form when you stray from the norm
and i’m on some other sh-t with arms, baraka blades… and corn
occasionally the goonies will surface from the selves to give you dap as i adapt to the truth “even wood floors will stop creaking to rep for those who’ll never see it”
lets get down to br-ss tacks: most of us will never reach our dreams. it’ll be under our bed, next our graduation shoes, losing steam
so i wear this mask, luchador, mecha, true to from skecher
working the angle with an angel on my shoulder that taught me to strangle the earths corners
lurch grip death merchant perched to service the mourners of “real hip hop”
heres a warning: if your field of dreams has locust don’t bother
that’s because the sons are focused on not baring the sins of their fathers
remember everyone wants to be the sheepard tomorrow because even the hiding wolf has to follow
so let the naysayers hack and cough, the scenester lipsmack and yawn while i develope the strength to stab critics to death with a basketball
to heckles futile like magneto in a plastic cell, in vacuum h-ll pumping heavy metal to make laughter dispell
spell that with an iron e (irony = i.e.). you can giggle now
can i kick it? stop lying to me!
i don’t sleep i keep the moon not hawking
plotting with other darkstalkers to siezel the moment in installment
parchment piety, separation anxiety shrink wrapped
the pseidon of saliva science
scene slipping… now think back
was there ever a time when the underdog shared your shadow but battled to keep the viewer from changing the channel?
motherf-cker i speak that
i’m skech. i’m a worm in the dirt so i’m king?
for what it’s worth, my verse k!lls the early bird
because i’m one man spitting
one word.one life.one dream. listen!
one goal. one verse.one person spitting!
one life. one mission. one time listen!
i’m just a cracked statue with a perfect mold i’ll never fit
knowing that heaven is the moment when every thing makes sense… i sit imprisoned in my intention
trying to suspend this second as death caresses the calendar with porcelain hands narrowing down my what ifs
and i’m just… a color on the wing of a dragon fly
i’m just… a branch of a family tree that looks more like a cotton plant:
– flat
– rigid
– mums the word children
– parents who half listen
– former stifled h-ll raisers
– born again christians
– crack binges
– a cracked system with a success tournament more like a tourniquet
– don’t ask, if its religious, march like n-z-‘s till told what your concern is with
i realized the powers that be k!ll where the real lies (lays)
blinds the best of us with the rest of ’til we don’t believe our real eyes
set us up with a place in the sun that we defend with our real lies
and i refuse, so i only start oratories with real “i’s”
that’s the illest speech grown from concrete felt by a million feet
from time to time my boy calls to remind me of how buildings weeps
cites cracks as tears and how tiers stand strong when the steel is weak
i say “word” hold my head and hope this elevator music don’t get to me
i’m skech185 motherf-cker, shanta’s little brother
the on that left 7 ate and made 9th wonder
that “back-in-the-day” kid that got booed and sent home for days
but he’s back, and slicing opponents to death with their shoulder blades
the self-made lunatic nubian fighting for mark making
museless musician confusing the children with stark, sharp, shark statements
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