Jehst - True Intention lyrics
[Jehst - True Intention lyrics]
God bless our corrupted minds
For trying to fuck with rhymes
We probably should've stuck with crimes
Crowds are hating on me
Fans are rating on me
Alcohol got me stumbling around
Like a waking zombie
Dragging myself out of the grave
To show these young-bloods how to behave
The cycle's counting the days
Every LP is a resurrection stagnating
Waiting for fresh direction
In the east of the city peep the situation
We've got dreams
But no means of facilitation
A grand vision of autonomy
The reason why a drug dealer
Exploit's the black market economy
And everybody want an 'MTV crib'
Trying to figure where the WMDs hit
You gots to chill like EPMD did
Wifey wiling out on some PMT-shit
The rent's late
I see a few of these dudes as dead weight
A leader in need of head space
I blaze the Peng-grade the pen stays poised
My ink-flow's poisoned to keep me employed
I'm eating off sixteen bars used to be nine
Double-jointed blazing two zoots at a time
Losing my mind finding my feet
Explaining to bre'ers:
I've got to get paid to rhyme on the beat
I'm trying to eat love don't pay the bills
They say: "Jehst got crazy skills!"
But the stress is going to make me ill!
I've been badly advised so I trust no one
Except my family-ties
I've head it with lies and Geminis
It's all over, man snakes in the grass
I'm the lawn-mower man the green-fingered
Black hearted corporate whore
There's no such thing as a rap artist
It's all bullshit white boys blacking up
Modern Al Johnson b-Boys cracking up like:
"This can't be my beautiful culture!"
Chasing the mirage of food for the vulture
That's circling over
You'll never escape your fate
In this Orwellian state
It's got schoolboys peddling weight
Pop-pop leave you dead in your gates
It's the same throughout many estates
The melody makes the pain numb
Soldiers back from Iraq selling firearms
Fresh of the plane bun it's plain dumb
How an Iraqi and a kid from Hackney
Can be killed by the same gun
So when you put my tape into your deck
Think about Columbine and Virginia Tech
Martial law is still in effect
A society, pushed to the brink, to the limit
The edge!
Who's held accountable for civilian deaths?
Everytime a politician want to
Big-up his chest it's all economics
The arms trade generates dollars
And dictators don't educate scholars
It's trick-knowledge
We no longer celebrate honour
When men are dying, we stay quiet
And pray we don't face the same horror
At the hands of their descendants
Thinking it's the price of our independence
All eyes on the future
While soldiers in Fallujah
Control by remote-viewer oK Computer?
For trying to fuck with rhymes
We probably should've stuck with crimes
Crowds are hating on me
Fans are rating on me
Alcohol got me stumbling around
Like a waking zombie
Dragging myself out of the grave
To show these young-bloods how to behave
The cycle's counting the days
Every LP is a resurrection stagnating
Waiting for fresh direction
In the east of the city peep the situation
We've got dreams
But no means of facilitation
A grand vision of autonomy
The reason why a drug dealer
Exploit's the black market economy
And everybody want an 'MTV crib'
Trying to figure where the WMDs hit
You gots to chill like EPMD did
Wifey wiling out on some PMT-shit
The rent's late
I see a few of these dudes as dead weight
A leader in need of head space
I blaze the Peng-grade the pen stays poised
My ink-flow's poisoned to keep me employed
I'm eating off sixteen bars used to be nine
Double-jointed blazing two zoots at a time
Losing my mind finding my feet
Explaining to bre'ers:
I've got to get paid to rhyme on the beat
I'm trying to eat love don't pay the bills
They say: "Jehst got crazy skills!"
But the stress is going to make me ill!
I've been badly advised so I trust no one
Except my family-ties
I've head it with lies and Geminis
It's all over, man snakes in the grass
I'm the lawn-mower man the green-fingered
Black hearted corporate whore
There's no such thing as a rap artist
It's all bullshit white boys blacking up
Modern Al Johnson b-Boys cracking up like:
"This can't be my beautiful culture!"
Chasing the mirage of food for the vulture
That's circling over
You'll never escape your fate
In this Orwellian state
It's got schoolboys peddling weight
Pop-pop leave you dead in your gates
It's the same throughout many estates
The melody makes the pain numb
Soldiers back from Iraq selling firearms
Fresh of the plane bun it's plain dumb
How an Iraqi and a kid from Hackney
Can be killed by the same gun
So when you put my tape into your deck
Think about Columbine and Virginia Tech
Martial law is still in effect
A society, pushed to the brink, to the limit
The edge!
Who's held accountable for civilian deaths?
Everytime a politician want to
Big-up his chest it's all economics
The arms trade generates dollars
And dictators don't educate scholars
It's trick-knowledge
We no longer celebrate honour
When men are dying, we stay quiet
And pray we don't face the same horror
At the hands of their descendants
Thinking it's the price of our independence
All eyes on the future
While soldiers in Fallujah
Control by remote-viewer oK Computer?