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lyrics

(hook)
I got a hatchet for the ratchet
I got a satchel full black masks gasoline and matches
Stoking fires for the pious
Sewing clothes for the froze
Providing more lies for the buyers
Seed for the pastures
So there’ll be pretty flowers for the sheep in the hour of the rapture
Hear laughter from the rafters
As I place Silver coins in their eyes
so they can pay their passage

(Zion)
post traumatic addict, ghost in the attic
most emphatic host to tragic. dose of magic
spit it graphic through the static till they close the casket
bad habits, north coast schematics
got a ratchet for the wretched ratched
for it hatch and wreck your palette
put it in your deck and rack it. call it classic
call it just the best you’ve ever had. its for the masses
tip your glasses, tap the ashes from the L that’s ever passin
by the truth but never askin
questions as the clever masquerading as the everlasting

(Jungle)
Get low like sonar
Bounce back like frequencies
From alien entities
We basking in a fashion
Crackin open a Kraken
With a school of mermaidens
Each floating with a flaggen
Dis be that boy Sue Saxon
Wit a black Chuck Chaplin
Do it to em like MJ
Wit a Hitler mustache
Hmmmmmmm
Too soon? Fuck it
Nigga rake the cash in
Bad Santa Kaiser blade
Slicing all the prices down
Of what your life is now
(In a fashion)
Welcome to the layer cake
No tears no icing
Survive by syphoning
The blood of a bison
That smack a hoe tribe
That’s derived from Tyson
Fighting in a slaughter house
Trying to get the demons out
Raps crush lungs
Just like a Python
They rocking broken smiles
They defined by the biting
And there will be blood
Like the break of a hymen
Like Daniel Day Lewis nigga
Nobody like him

(Zion)
The whole world off its axis Let me give you the low down
My man atlas tore a tendon He put the load down
We on a roll now. On the road to who knows now
Swagger more outa control every go round
This is moonshine, It burn when it go round
Like shorty strawberry Gordy on her Motown
Niggas wanna chop and screw it? Better slow down
‘for ya laid out AID’n holdin the floor down
Man holdin the wall up. Fans holdin there hands up
When we up in your town Bills doin the ho-down mane
We free agents don’t speak sign language
Bullshit walk, money talk, and that’s ageless
This is Gypsy music to get tipsy to
For phat asses and hip to dipsy do
This is heavy metals in a centrifuge
Power, like the FCC to censor you

credits

from The Hues Brothers, released May 15, 2018
produced by A-Live
written by Zion & Jungle

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Muamin Collective Cleveland

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