Promoe - What's That Sound текст песни

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Fuck a sampler, I rhyme to the rhythm of my punchlines beating your ear
creating sublime subliminal rhythms synchronized to how I feel son/
livin' to the rhythm of time/
life: the composition composed of minutes, seconds, deacades, years,
alternating and creating the symphony played by the sound of the morning train
galloping to work/
the sound of a global choir of women givin' birth/
the sound of the child molesting priest breathing hard in the back of the

The sound of the lost youth getting back at mother earth/
the sound of capitalistic blood thirst. We stand around rapping over the sound
of the police/
rappin' over the sound of no justice no peace. A troublesome couple sons rappin'
over urban jungle drums/
stickin' to the bubble gum. Rappin' over the thumping beat of an army of feet/
invading their neighbouring country forcing 'em to retreat. Rappin' over the
sound of my girl's talkin' in her sleep/
and the sound of skulls getting crushed on concrete.

But what's sound?/ Sound is music!
Now what's music?/ Music is life!
And what's life?/ Life is death!
Now what's death?/ Death is silence!
But what's silence?/ Silence is sound!
So what's sound?/ Sound is music!
Then what's music?/ Music is life!
And what's life?/ Life is death!

This is to my sons in the streets on the run from police/
headphones and car seats pumpin' these beats. Yo the stage setting: we on a
highway heading east/
through the world's dead end streets. We're like seven deep at the speed of a
spreading virus/
out of control like forest fires. Rappin' thrue mike wires/
rappin' over beats or rappin' over silence. It's all music anyway/
we rap over the sounds of cash registers, or without getting any pay.

Fuck a deejay I rhyme to the rhythm of my razor tongue cutting your ear wax/
playin' the rhythm of decision over my heart beat and the noise of Air Max.
Runnin' from Jimi Hendrix machine gunnin', fear/
makes it hard to hear my heart beating. Deafened by the primate inside of me
there's more rhythms to listen to more melodies/
but when the day is over the harmony is off key. Loop that sample!/
sshh.. I'm vibin' to mother earth's menstrual cycle...


I looked right and left got swept away/
by the sound wave to which I'm a damn slave. Runnin' thrue physically illegal
dissecting drum sets, fragments of sweaty recording sets. The battle between
destruction and construction, silence and noise/
girl versus boy. Plastic card versus coin is occupying my mind while the silent
wind of truth is runnin' thrue body and soul. The friction between needle and
wax is removing the cold/
and it's the source of life. Of this entire empire where the landscape is the
which is one with the mind state. The state on the other side of the babylonian
I stand on the mountain of love with the fist in the air. The air I'm breathin',
the truth I'm retreavin', the chambers of my heart I'm revealin'/
every scar and bruise is healin'...

...when me and Black Fist master the art of music stealin'. Rap over the cry of
the people with the slide of a needle/
rockin' over two turntables over the rockin' of a cradle. And the soft singin'
of a mother's soothing voice/
your drunk parents arguing makin' noise. And your grandfather's whistling the
Grim Reaper's whispering/
slow ballads of death and he'll make sure that you're listening. The rimshot to
the gunshot, gunclap to the handclap/
footstep to the footchain, fingersnap to the neck snap. We got a text that will
break all bounds/
though these words ain't noting but sounds...





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