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Scribble on a Clean Surface
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Aceyalone
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1
I had forgotten the incredible butter softness of his long fingers
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How they felt on my back when he slow-dragged with me,
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At a fateful "Blue Lights in the Basement" party
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The dim lights making his honey-colored eyes barely visible as he,
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Flashed a penlight in my eyes!
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"Look directly into the light this time"
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I say look into the light
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See what you look like
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[Chorus]
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(I scribble on a clean surface, the earthless and worthless)
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(It's life, at the tunnel of the point of purchase)
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(Ey yo freedom got a microphone, and a AK)
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(Make way, and prepare for the melee)
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The microphone magic of Aceyalone
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The method of my madness could never! Be known
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Don't, try to set home or off of the dome
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Because wigs are known to be split!
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And a, fan is known to be hit with shit
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Rubber band flows that snap back in place
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Rap in they face, get this motherfucker outta here
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He talks way way way way! too much
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Spit for the victory, 'til they sick of me
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I never wallow in the bickery or trickery
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There's no con-fusion, just the fusion!
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No il-LUSION, 'cause God rule them
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Held high, nailed in the sky
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The artistic eye leaves you mystified
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You're once denied, soon openly obliged
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[Chorus]
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They say, "rock you don't stop" but what you talkin' bout
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Well let me guess, you come fi test
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But test not he who knows best, put nonsense to rest
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Preachin' on a soapbox, dope on the block
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Choke on your tongue, smoke from the gun
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Broke in the middle, I hope you're havin' fun
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High! Post, high dose, high strung
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Wind through the lungs, spirit of the young
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Salt on the slug, caught with the plug
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Fought with the drugs, taught by the thugs
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Eye of a tiger, head of a lion
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Walkin' through the interior of Siberia
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Chip away at the rock, or a dynamite block
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Right where they had to stop, we continue
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Think the worst, ink into the verse
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Sink into the earth, die by the end of the rhyme
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What a rush, too much to discuss
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I close it up by sayin' this
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[Chorus]
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