Dead Pan

This be the dawning of

The age of dead water

Station every B-boy fragment

Somebody live enough to bust through the belly

Put a fist up

This is a right-now generation murdered by the fanbase

This is adored by the writers

Dead water

With a still-force activated

No, I'm not feeling alright

Formed by the village of badges and bad karma

Punched by the stagnant waters

Leaked through the fickle whack

But by the window sill's three nickles in a piggy bank

Honor with a hint of funny stomach from the hunger pains

Splashed automatic B-boy with big visions

In a matchbox apartment

Adjacent a crooked starship

Spoon fed a nation in millions, the only remedy:

Nine deadly planets with a bullet-riding centerpiece

Take me through the gates!

I'll find the stink of burning

Find the hottest slacker in a visionary costume

Con-artist

Kamikaze conduct

Gone for a second

Till divinity whored herself to disaster

I recognize the takers

By the mechanical stagger

As opposed to the skip of

Big Brother

Badge slasher

Theologies who seem to keep the jukies caffeinated

Like a Mad Hatter had to sleep now

Ask after

Calibrate the happy-scale

Weigh me soaking wet

With a mouth full of dead ideas and see if it tips zero

Stripped ego

Tall stories of brawl glory

I'll be God while you're still living life on a full 40

Or maybe I'll be grimacing, homes

Poor, broke and lonely

Hidden by my billygoat beard and cardboard monstrosity

I drink a bad glass of gumption

Not bad meaning bad

But, bad meaning ... disgustin'

Wild child

Activator

Activate

Sludgin' up the dungeon for an accolade

And while one documented wild murder

Flamed through the city with a wild merger

Woke up and a wild-style burner!

Space-case

Boombox

Hate-tapes

No lemonade breaks

Sweat and no cheddar in Labor Days

Right now

I'm here to break apart a Bic's piston

Plus my "straight and narrows" got more curves than a Russ Meyer vixen

Spitting sob stories to confront my thick addictions

I'm the dirty basin with the graves of Salem witches

Driving my stake through the face of painstakin' business

Checkmate

Wanna scream misery?

Better breath-take

Out of sleep

Lifted off the botany

Little Jackie paper and a magic dragon sack of dirty shrubbery

I be the ugliest version of paranoia

Kingpin set in motion

By the secondhand pressure

Some get excited when the Sun folds under

Some get excited when the summer hits the pavement

Some get excited when the bullets hit bones

But I'm board

I'll escape through the train yard

And sleep till it's broken

(Same old) 30x

This be the settling

A dead of warm water

The mobile B-boy function

Somebody mad enough to cut apart the curtain

Put a fist up

This is the dagger in the 88 magnificent memorial

This is the heater to a movement

Dead water

When a broke vision's got sparks

No, I'm not feeling alright

This be the windshear

Dodgin' dead water

A solitary b-boy wonder

Somebody fresh enough to reinvent the court

And put a fist up

This is the chalky outline around a classic break-beat

This is an agitated moment

Dead water

With a burnt reason beaten ugly

No, I'm not feeling alright