I made 50 CDs, by the time I got collaborators their copies and snuck others into tee shirt orders, only ten remain. P-Ro not only features on the album, he also handled the artwork.
Includes unlimited streaming of 12 Crows on a Wire
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Put a blow torch to your cohort, the flow scorches
Go forward, arranging them all post mortem
With no warning, i’m set to go off, the next to blow
Testify the rep is dope with the prose majestic flow
Domestic growth pessimistic visioned episode
The wretched roam lost with hopes to nestle close
Stressing no mas even rolling stones bleed
I walk around the human warning sign they don’t heed
Borderline with no fences relentless trenchant code grief
Waiting for the suckers who dream of biting to grow teeth
Crows feet creep around the broken windows, hope akimbo
Posing in a frozen glimpse though
Time flies so I clip its wings
Use a song for the clippers sticky ticking clings
Clock guts spilling out the cuckoo feathered breast
Sometimes I kind of wonder if my pen will ever rest
Inside the buzzards innards are spinning the plight of mothers
And crying brothers even prideful lions in time will suffer,
I try to buffer the agony, but it’s climbing greedy
My head will try to soothe, but my heart provides the beating
And that’s the crux of it, toughening limbs for puppetmasters
Sustenance is stringing us along when all the tough are shattered
I speak in metaphors extended to the point of breakage
Occams razor gold fronts for piranhas, raving
The long awaited yet never in time persona stated
Lay me down inside a crown of thorns upon a snakepit
Recorded songs years ago that haven’t even dropped
I keep it moving forward, never shall I feed defeatist thoughts
Forget a blunt, I spark the pen
And then embark again upon a trip until my hardened heart is zen, so guard it friend
Too late to make amends, so brace yourself, I’m closing in
I bring the box that they can pose you in with frozen skin
The notable motor inside his mouth is lamborghni
So bring the right amount to title bouts, you’re cramped and leaking
The branch davidian in your corner awaits your fall
David Koresh verses the ATF, debate the call
Paint the mall overgrown stamp it post apocalyptic
not a thought is given, trauma stoked picasso visions
Pushing envelopes can only yield the paper cuts
Mere mortals grinding in machines can simply pray for rust
Trading places with the vacuous to feel the breeze
Static it reveals dramatic nothingness to steal or see
A healing knee from the taken, under summoned nerves to try
I reach my arms and burst the sky when I diversify
Letting the verses fly, repetitive urges cry
Slurping turpentine from tupperware, it serves them right
Deservedly letting the whirling dervish blur the dream
Is this life or just a murder scene, my words careen
Purse my lips around the featherweights of Birds that preen,
Set the stage and call the understudies, slurping lean
Deft brigades withdraw with lungs so bloody, leaving crimson mist
Those with spines hardened with martyrdom simply Wince and drift
Glimpse the cliff, hear the whispers calling so seductive
Raising a fully empty glass, another toast to nothing
Started following Juga-Naut upon hearing him break down life and rap relating to Kool G Rap on Crate808 and I've been a fan since. Wordplay, skill, the dope backdrops, what's not to love? Sankofa
