...From Mole Hills

[Verse 1]

Basic blocks to breath topple under bare bleeding feet

Wince at stabbing pain in left lobe as mighty sword's unsheathed

Source of all life lies in East

The source of all life lies in East

Feel the rumble of them bombed trains, third railed from beneath

I walk with tattered scrolls on these ill lonely streets

Babble last true tongue, could give a fuck where you from

Travel torn path, swung as pendulum

Now my thread of life's come undone

Remember back when Uzi's weighed a ton? Now every kid's got one

Dipped in platinum, bathed in aggression

Succumb to last temptation, lost all my patience

Peace to last bastion, Afrika and Zulu Nation

Lyrics laced with oils from inner works of mental reservoir

The world in ill discord

Pray to ancient ancestors

Pray to ancient ancestors

[Hook]

Remember days of cardboard, fat lace, and Krylon?

Microphones and twelves, tools we all relied on

Niggas dropped a verse, thought was one to die on

I remember hip hop, that's my Mount Zion

[Verse 2]

Bygones be bygones, so many souls worn thin

My world lies in famine, I wander with kinsmen

Through dismal slums of ignorance, wash my hands in pool of absolution

Keep warm with torn blanket of revolution

Quite useless to shut one's eyes once realized

You glide through this darkness, embark upon this

Solemn crusade to save the only gift our God gave

The curse is man-made, designed to turn blessed to slaves

Forgave the weak-minded two weeks into journey

Again travel untraveled road on scraped knee

Broke bread with those bums who taught speech

In attempt to reach nirvana, ye of poor karma

None calmer in old age, young sage

Turn page on brittle text, there's no time left

What must I stress? Demons colorless

Infest our own earth, immersed in tainted dirt

Could never quite quench my own thirst for ancient drums

There lies a language in the noise and the hum

Prepare for martyrdom, prepare for martyrdom

I speak that ancient tongue

There lies a language in the noise and the hum

[Hook]

Remember days of cardboard, fat lace, and Krylon?

Microphones and twelves, tools we all relied on

Niggas dropped a verse, thought was one to die on

I remember hip hop, that's my Mount Zion

[Verse 3]

Lost equilibrium, wish I fell to '85

Verbal vagabond blessed for being blind

Etched my paradigm in Sanskrit at age nine

So why these kids swear to God I'm unrefined?

Still swig from sacred liquid language

Poor as fuck, but seem to manage, non-average urban savage

You living lavish when this world is pure survival

Best you hide the corners of your mind for sitting idle

Breathing air is vital, you pray to false idols

No feelings in recitals when you only search for titles

Feel so suicidal, but couldn't give you joy

Four elements of this is only for the -

[Outro]

B-girls

B-boys

B-girls

B-boys