| 作词 : Daumont, Davis, Shimura | |
| Cheyenne! Look at what the liquor brings about, | |
| Throw out the magic basket full of wires and let them flail all on the ground. | |
| Why do they love it so? | |
| Hatched seeds of light supported by light seaward breezes, | |
| And we see these orbs in a car chase of sorts, | |
| Absorbs sweet Lorraine and her dolly on the front porch and it escorts them into | |
| Deep, dark, space around Taurus, | |
| And the Mormons can't explain the stars reflectin' in her corneas. | |
| It makes they hearts beat hard against they corsets which | |
| Bops they lockets up against they foreheads, and- | |
| Who was it that sent this little girl's mind up into orbit? | |
| She had to forfeit little dolly while in space so that she could touch the stars like torches. | |
| Privately, we recorded her, | |
| Intimately, yes! We courted her with- | |
| "Miss Cinnamon Tea, please rest your itty bitty palms in my- | |
| Incandescently glowing hands and infinitely, | |
| We will explore your inquisitive tendencies; | |
| The intrinsic and the explicit, | |
| We won't inhibit any of your inquiry, | |
| But first the fire must be met then quenched by you candidly and randomly venting any | |
| Thoughts, memories, anything! | |
| It's time for you to start channeling what you've been gathering!" | |
| So we left gravity, | |
| Instantly engulfing Lorraine in a shimmering cavity then, | |
| Flattening like an elasticine band that stretches and contorts, | |
| And then I'd widen like the space highway spiraling sideways, contract and dilate, | |
| Then straighten up at 100 mph then fall on myself in layers like a thickened band of taffy, | |
| Assuming every length and shape imaginable, | |
| Then I catapulted Lorraine and her stuffed animal into still deeper space, | |
| But fathoming what I had actually done and her pace increasing rapidly, | |
| I shot out like a javelin after her screams, | |
| First matching her speed, then surpassing her, hearing her laughter as I passed her, | |
| But the web I spun had not strengthened yet, | |
| And the momentum sent them stretching through my intentions, And I popped! | |
| Dolly lost. . . . . . . | |
| And Lorraine. . . . . .. | |
| Plopped back down into her bedroom, | |
| And coughed | |
| [Lateef:] | |
| Born | |
| The correlation | |
| Relation shapin' | |
| The forms | |
| Are takin' their stations warned | |
| We're warmed | |
| The verbal intercourse and mind fornication | |
| Is on, whine, design is tight, | |
| Corn burn more than blunts | |
| Or oil at midnight | |
| The clock turns, as it often does | |
| Fight it with all ya might scrub | |
| Ya learn more if ya listen | |
| Timing is more than tic-toc-tickin' | |
| Rippin's a mission so come equipped | |
| But not with remote clickin's or clips | |
| In the nine | |
| Ya mind | |
| Is fine | |
| With me | |
| Brother | |
| Ya chickens, you caint rhyme | |
| And punks react violently | |
| But bad men respond silently | |
| Later hearing your gone, and the facts while sipping on cognac quitely | |
| Privately | |
| Commenting on society | |
| Modestly, | |
| Honestly, | |
| Asking why fools even try it | |
| When they're undeniably | |
| And obviously, | |
| Undoubtedly, | |
| Decidedly, | |
| Wack | |
| I strech out and expand | |
| In 3-D like | |
| Galaxies establishing terrestrial contact, like | |
| Roll up the windows, crank the heat, relax recline the seat, | |
| And thank Lateef, | |
| Take two and pass, | |
| Give it a little gas and ask | |
| "What's the riddle mean?" | |
| Fantastic | |
| G E=MC2 don't be sarcastic, my mind moves at the speed of light when blasted | |
| Synchopated audiosyncratic madness | |
| Concentrated | |
| Focused | |
| On the rabbit | |
| Like I'm rabid, gigantic, teething wolverine | |
| Armed with claws that bring murderous tragedies | |
| To even human beings burdened with feelings of sadness | |
| Ludicrous thang is I'm glad to be the baddest | |
| Sittin' fattest after I'm finished lunchin', munchin' em | |
| Before that | |
| I'm slashin', attackin with rippin' action | |
| In sound clashes | |
| Bastard I'm the fastest | |
| Quick draw | |
| Like: western classics | |
| BIG JAW, voice cuts like a saw | |
| Sprinkling you like Magic | |
| As the cataclysm hits | |
| Like SMACK | |
| Vocabic havoc cracks | |
| Your sternum, spine, and scapula | |
| Spectacularly | |
| Propelling you backwards over the edge | |
| Of the track | |
| [Lyrics Born:] | |
| Now that we have made our way away from the sky apple, | |
| You will notice from your new knowledge experience, | |
| That the distance from the crust to the mantle to the core, | |
| Is much greater than previous measurements, | |
| And as lyricists in this time period we experiment with a myriad of new findings, | |
| Different from the supposed truths, | |
| The ample evidence we presented, | |
| It complemented our argument that "everything is impermanent". | |
| Not static or at settled standstill as the opposite element has suggested is legitimate, | |
| And finally, as a reminder, | |
| The precious metals and ores mined for early in the earth's surface sediment, | |
| Cannot compare to the infinite introspective splendor, | |
| Incentive isn't it? | |
| [Lateef:] | |
| Yes, yes, yes, YES, well, yes, yes, yes, | |
| You're dealing with lyricists that's fresh, fresh, fresh, | |
| You wan test surely ya jest, look, lets just get | |
| One thing correct before ya step focus on breath, breath, breath, | |
| One rep, | |
| Breath, breath, breath, | |
| Select yet another set of styles? Yup, yup, yep, | |
| Each one as hard as erections I got to flex, flex, flex, | |
| For project protection I'm collecting text, techs, tex, | |
| While you're caught up, | |
| Thinking rap is just sex, sex, sex, | |
| And more flesh, flesh, flesh, | |
| Robbing your soul of its precious sensuousness | |
| Most of these rappers are talking shit out of the side of they neck | |
| What the heck? | |
| It's more and more suckas gettin' signed for less, less, less, and less | |
| And lesson 1: if aiming to impress, press, press, | |
| You gotta do it yourself | |
| Quiet as kept, kept, kept, | |
| If my work is respected I collect checks, checks, checks, | |
| They cain't all bounce and if they do I got an ounce at the rest | |
| So I aint stressin' off that bullshit. | |
| [Lyrics Born:] | |
| 'Cuz I've walked on water weapons baby haven't you heard? | |
| I've authored songs on different planes and left the boundaries blurred, | |
| And I taught Neanderthal to use the rotary phone, | |
| I kicked the devil in his neck without my rosary on. | |
| [Lateef:] | |
| And I checked out the vampire's nest | |
| Sans garlic, dissed his harlots, then without the crucifix | |
| Plunged the wooden stake deep inside his chest | |
| Pinned him! | |
| Thrashing around in the bottom of his sarcophagus | |
| Writhing around | |
| Till the only thing left, | |
| Were little scraps of nothingness | |
| Those scattered all about infinity | |
| [Lyrics Born:] | |
| All different shapes and sizes going wherever | |
| [Lateef:] | |
| But all of one entity | |
| [Lyrics Born:] | |
| That I had brought together for my pleasure | |
| Watch this now, | |
| [Lyrics Born:] | |
| Your last dinner in my chamber where I tempered weapons rendered from a rusty Ford fender, | |
| You get your steak and eggs, | |
| Your Caesar vinaigrette, | |
| Savor your cigarette, | |
| 'Cuz I'ma tape your lips, | |
| Become my marionette, | |
| You curtsy, pirouette, | |
| And when my blade caresses, | |
| I scrape my bayonet, | |
| You lose your favorite legs, | |
| I love that fragrance, | |
| Playful Pet! Yes I'm the patron saint of Dangerous, | |
| You slaying La-Tyrx? | |
| You're driving majorettes, | |
| Over some acreage. | |
| [Lateef:] | |
| As you sit there pensively, tentatively fidgeting with creation | |
| But you fuck 'round with this and you'll get aten. | |
| [Lateef:] | |
| You gettin laid to rest | |
| Ain't slayin' Latyrx | |
| You gettin laid to rest | |
| Over the Sunset's edge |
| zuo ci : Daumont, Davis, Shimura | |
| Cheyenne! Look at what the liquor brings about, | |
| Throw out the magic basket full of wires and let them flail all on the ground. | |
| Why do they love it so? | |
| Hatched seeds of light supported by light seaward breezes, | |
| And we see these orbs in a car chase of sorts, | |
| Absorbs sweet Lorraine and her dolly on the front porch and it escorts them into | |
| Deep, dark, space around Taurus, | |
| And the Mormons can' t explain the stars reflectin' in her corneas. | |
| It makes they hearts beat hard against they corsets which | |
| Bops they lockets up against they foreheads, and | |
| Who was it that sent this little girl' s mind up into orbit? | |
| She had to forfeit little dolly while in space so that she could touch the stars like torches. | |
| Privately, we recorded her, | |
| Intimately, yes! We courted her with | |
| " Miss Cinnamon Tea, please rest your itty bitty palms in my | |
| Incandescently glowing hands and infinitely, | |
| We will explore your inquisitive tendencies | |
| The intrinsic and the explicit, | |
| We won' t inhibit any of your inquiry, | |
| But first the fire must be met then quenched by you candidly and randomly venting any | |
| Thoughts, memories, anything! | |
| It' s time for you to start channeling what you' ve been gathering!" | |
| So we left gravity, | |
| Instantly engulfing Lorraine in a shimmering cavity then, | |
| Flattening like an elasticine band that stretches and contorts, | |
| And then I' d widen like the space highway spiraling sideways, contract and dilate, | |
| Then straighten up at 100 mph then fall on myself in layers like a thickened band of taffy, | |
| Assuming every length and shape imaginable, | |
| Then I catapulted Lorraine and her stuffed animal into still deeper space, | |
| But fathoming what I had actually done and her pace increasing rapidly, | |
| I shot out like a javelin after her screams, | |
| First matching her speed, then surpassing her, hearing her laughter as I passed her, | |
| But the web I spun had not strengthened yet, | |
| And the momentum sent them stretching through my intentions, And I popped! | |
| Dolly lost. . . . . . . | |
| And Lorraine. . . . . .. | |
| Plopped back down into her bedroom, | |
| And coughed | |
| Lateef: | |
| Born | |
| The correlation | |
| Relation shapin' | |
| The forms | |
| Are takin' their stations warned | |
| We' re warmed | |
| The verbal intercourse and mind fornication | |
| Is on, whine, design is tight, | |
| Corn burn more than blunts | |
| Or oil at midnight | |
| The clock turns, as it often does | |
| Fight it with all ya might scrub | |
| Ya learn more if ya listen | |
| Timing is more than tictoctickin' | |
| Rippin' s a mission so come equipped | |
| But not with remote clickin' s or clips | |
| In the nine | |
| Ya mind | |
| Is fine | |
| With me | |
| Brother | |
| Ya chickens, you caint rhyme | |
| And punks react violently | |
| But bad men respond silently | |
| Later hearing your gone, and the facts while sipping on cognac quitely | |
| Privately | |
| Commenting on society | |
| Modestly, | |
| Honestly, | |
| Asking why fools even try it | |
| When they' re undeniably | |
| And obviously, | |
| Undoubtedly, | |
| Decidedly, | |
| Wack | |
| I strech out and expand | |
| In 3D like | |
| Galaxies establishing terrestrial contact, like | |
| Roll up the windows, crank the heat, relax recline the seat, | |
| And thank Lateef, | |
| Take two and pass, | |
| Give it a little gas and ask | |
| " What' s the riddle mean?" | |
| Fantastic | |
| G E MC2 don' t be sarcastic, my mind moves at the speed of light when blasted | |
| Synchopated audiosyncratic madness | |
| Concentrated | |
| Focused | |
| On the rabbit | |
| Like I' m rabid, gigantic, teething wolverine | |
| Armed with claws that bring murderous tragedies | |
| To even human beings burdened with feelings of sadness | |
| Ludicrous thang is I' m glad to be the baddest | |
| Sittin' fattest after I' m finished lunchin', munchin' em | |
| Before that | |
| I' m slashin', attackin with rippin' action | |
| In sound clashes | |
| Bastard I' m the fastest | |
| Quick draw | |
| Like: western classics | |
| BIG JAW, voice cuts like a saw | |
| Sprinkling you like Magic | |
| As the cataclysm hits | |
| Like SMACK | |
| Vocabic havoc cracks | |
| Your sternum, spine, and scapula | |
| Spectacularly | |
| Propelling you backwards over the edge | |
| Of the track | |
| Lyrics Born: | |
| Now that we have made our way away from the sky apple, | |
| You will notice from your new knowledge experience, | |
| That the distance from the crust to the mantle to the core, | |
| Is much greater than previous measurements, | |
| And as lyricists in this time period we experiment with a myriad of new findings, | |
| Different from the supposed truths, | |
| The ample evidence we presented, | |
| It complemented our argument that " everything is impermanent". | |
| Not static or at settled standstill as the opposite element has suggested is legitimate, | |
| And finally, as a reminder, | |
| The precious metals and ores mined for early in the earth' s surface sediment, | |
| Cannot compare to the infinite introspective splendor, | |
| Incentive isn' t it? | |
| Lateef: | |
| Yes, yes, yes, YES, well, yes, yes, yes, | |
| You' re dealing with lyricists that' s fresh, fresh, fresh, | |
| You wan test surely ya jest, look, lets just get | |
| One thing correct before ya step focus on breath, breath, breath, | |
| One rep, | |
| Breath, breath, breath, | |
| Select yet another set of styles? Yup, yup, yep, | |
| Each one as hard as erections I got to flex, flex, flex, | |
| For project protection I' m collecting text, techs, tex, | |
| While you' re caught up, | |
| Thinking rap is just sex, sex, sex, | |
| And more flesh, flesh, flesh, | |
| Robbing your soul of its precious sensuousness | |
| Most of these rappers are talking shit out of the side of they neck | |
| What the heck? | |
| It' s more and more suckas gettin' signed for less, less, less, and less | |
| And lesson 1: if aiming to impress, press, press, | |
| You gotta do it yourself | |
| Quiet as kept, kept, kept, | |
| If my work is respected I collect checks, checks, checks, | |
| They cain' t all bounce and if they do I got an ounce at the rest | |
| So I aint stressin' off that bullshit. | |
| Lyrics Born: | |
| ' Cuz I' ve walked on water weapons baby haven' t you heard? | |
| I' ve authored songs on different planes and left the boundaries blurred, | |
| And I taught Neanderthal to use the rotary phone, | |
| I kicked the devil in his neck without my rosary on. | |
| Lateef: | |
| And I checked out the vampire' s nest | |
| Sans garlic, dissed his harlots, then without the crucifix | |
| Plunged the wooden stake deep inside his chest | |
| Pinned him! | |
| Thrashing around in the bottom of his sarcophagus | |
| Writhing around | |
| Till the only thing left, | |
| Were little scraps of nothingness | |
| Those scattered all about infinity | |
| Lyrics Born: | |
| All different shapes and sizes going wherever | |
| Lateef: | |
| But all of one entity | |
| Lyrics Born: | |
| That I had brought together for my pleasure | |
| Watch this now, | |
| Lyrics Born: | |
| Your last dinner in my chamber where I tempered weapons rendered from a rusty Ford fender, | |
| You get your steak and eggs, | |
| Your Caesar vinaigrette, | |
| Savor your cigarette, | |
| ' Cuz I' ma tape your lips, | |
| Become my marionette, | |
| You curtsy, pirouette, | |
| And when my blade caresses, | |
| I scrape my bayonet, | |
| You lose your favorite legs, | |
| I love that fragrance, | |
| Playful Pet! Yes I' m the patron saint of Dangerous, | |
| You slaying LaTyrx? | |
| You' re driving majorettes, | |
| Over some acreage. | |
| Lateef: | |
| As you sit there pensively, tentatively fidgeting with creation | |
| But you fuck ' round with this and you' ll get aten. | |
| Lateef: | |
| You gettin laid to rest | |
| Ain' t slayin' Latyrx | |
| You gettin laid to rest | |
| Over the Sunset' s edge |
| zuò cí : Daumont, Davis, Shimura | |
| Cheyenne! Look at what the liquor brings about, | |
| Throw out the magic basket full of wires and let them flail all on the ground. | |
| Why do they love it so? | |
| Hatched seeds of light supported by light seaward breezes, | |
| And we see these orbs in a car chase of sorts, | |
| Absorbs sweet Lorraine and her dolly on the front porch and it escorts them into | |
| Deep, dark, space around Taurus, | |
| And the Mormons can' t explain the stars reflectin' in her corneas. | |
| It makes they hearts beat hard against they corsets which | |
| Bops they lockets up against they foreheads, and | |
| Who was it that sent this little girl' s mind up into orbit? | |
| She had to forfeit little dolly while in space so that she could touch the stars like torches. | |
| Privately, we recorded her, | |
| Intimately, yes! We courted her with | |
| " Miss Cinnamon Tea, please rest your itty bitty palms in my | |
| Incandescently glowing hands and infinitely, | |
| We will explore your inquisitive tendencies | |
| The intrinsic and the explicit, | |
| We won' t inhibit any of your inquiry, | |
| But first the fire must be met then quenched by you candidly and randomly venting any | |
| Thoughts, memories, anything! | |
| It' s time for you to start channeling what you' ve been gathering!" | |
| So we left gravity, | |
| Instantly engulfing Lorraine in a shimmering cavity then, | |
| Flattening like an elasticine band that stretches and contorts, | |
| And then I' d widen like the space highway spiraling sideways, contract and dilate, | |
| Then straighten up at 100 mph then fall on myself in layers like a thickened band of taffy, | |
| Assuming every length and shape imaginable, | |
| Then I catapulted Lorraine and her stuffed animal into still deeper space, | |
| But fathoming what I had actually done and her pace increasing rapidly, | |
| I shot out like a javelin after her screams, | |
| First matching her speed, then surpassing her, hearing her laughter as I passed her, | |
| But the web I spun had not strengthened yet, | |
| And the momentum sent them stretching through my intentions, And I popped! | |
| Dolly lost. . . . . . . | |
| And Lorraine. . . . . .. | |
| Plopped back down into her bedroom, | |
| And coughed | |
| Lateef: | |
| Born | |
| The correlation | |
| Relation shapin' | |
| The forms | |
| Are takin' their stations warned | |
| We' re warmed | |
| The verbal intercourse and mind fornication | |
| Is on, whine, design is tight, | |
| Corn burn more than blunts | |
| Or oil at midnight | |
| The clock turns, as it often does | |
| Fight it with all ya might scrub | |
| Ya learn more if ya listen | |
| Timing is more than tictoctickin' | |
| Rippin' s a mission so come equipped | |
| But not with remote clickin' s or clips | |
| In the nine | |
| Ya mind | |
| Is fine | |
| With me | |
| Brother | |
| Ya chickens, you caint rhyme | |
| And punks react violently | |
| But bad men respond silently | |
| Later hearing your gone, and the facts while sipping on cognac quitely | |
| Privately | |
| Commenting on society | |
| Modestly, | |
| Honestly, | |
| Asking why fools even try it | |
| When they' re undeniably | |
| And obviously, | |
| Undoubtedly, | |
| Decidedly, | |
| Wack | |
| I strech out and expand | |
| In 3D like | |
| Galaxies establishing terrestrial contact, like | |
| Roll up the windows, crank the heat, relax recline the seat, | |
| And thank Lateef, | |
| Take two and pass, | |
| Give it a little gas and ask | |
| " What' s the riddle mean?" | |
| Fantastic | |
| G E MC2 don' t be sarcastic, my mind moves at the speed of light when blasted | |
| Synchopated audiosyncratic madness | |
| Concentrated | |
| Focused | |
| On the rabbit | |
| Like I' m rabid, gigantic, teething wolverine | |
| Armed with claws that bring murderous tragedies | |
| To even human beings burdened with feelings of sadness | |
| Ludicrous thang is I' m glad to be the baddest | |
| Sittin' fattest after I' m finished lunchin', munchin' em | |
| Before that | |
| I' m slashin', attackin with rippin' action | |
| In sound clashes | |
| Bastard I' m the fastest | |
| Quick draw | |
| Like: western classics | |
| BIG JAW, voice cuts like a saw | |
| Sprinkling you like Magic | |
| As the cataclysm hits | |
| Like SMACK | |
| Vocabic havoc cracks | |
| Your sternum, spine, and scapula | |
| Spectacularly | |
| Propelling you backwards over the edge | |
| Of the track | |
| Lyrics Born: | |
| Now that we have made our way away from the sky apple, | |
| You will notice from your new knowledge experience, | |
| That the distance from the crust to the mantle to the core, | |
| Is much greater than previous measurements, | |
| And as lyricists in this time period we experiment with a myriad of new findings, | |
| Different from the supposed truths, | |
| The ample evidence we presented, | |
| It complemented our argument that " everything is impermanent". | |
| Not static or at settled standstill as the opposite element has suggested is legitimate, | |
| And finally, as a reminder, | |
| The precious metals and ores mined for early in the earth' s surface sediment, | |
| Cannot compare to the infinite introspective splendor, | |
| Incentive isn' t it? | |
| Lateef: | |
| Yes, yes, yes, YES, well, yes, yes, yes, | |
| You' re dealing with lyricists that' s fresh, fresh, fresh, | |
| You wan test surely ya jest, look, lets just get | |
| One thing correct before ya step focus on breath, breath, breath, | |
| One rep, | |
| Breath, breath, breath, | |
| Select yet another set of styles? Yup, yup, yep, | |
| Each one as hard as erections I got to flex, flex, flex, | |
| For project protection I' m collecting text, techs, tex, | |
| While you' re caught up, | |
| Thinking rap is just sex, sex, sex, | |
| And more flesh, flesh, flesh, | |
| Robbing your soul of its precious sensuousness | |
| Most of these rappers are talking shit out of the side of they neck | |
| What the heck? | |
| It' s more and more suckas gettin' signed for less, less, less, and less | |
| And lesson 1: if aiming to impress, press, press, | |
| You gotta do it yourself | |
| Quiet as kept, kept, kept, | |
| If my work is respected I collect checks, checks, checks, | |
| They cain' t all bounce and if they do I got an ounce at the rest | |
| So I aint stressin' off that bullshit. | |
| Lyrics Born: | |
| ' Cuz I' ve walked on water weapons baby haven' t you heard? | |
| I' ve authored songs on different planes and left the boundaries blurred, | |
| And I taught Neanderthal to use the rotary phone, | |
| I kicked the devil in his neck without my rosary on. | |
| Lateef: | |
| And I checked out the vampire' s nest | |
| Sans garlic, dissed his harlots, then without the crucifix | |
| Plunged the wooden stake deep inside his chest | |
| Pinned him! | |
| Thrashing around in the bottom of his sarcophagus | |
| Writhing around | |
| Till the only thing left, | |
| Were little scraps of nothingness | |
| Those scattered all about infinity | |
| Lyrics Born: | |
| All different shapes and sizes going wherever | |
| Lateef: | |
| But all of one entity | |
| Lyrics Born: | |
| That I had brought together for my pleasure | |
| Watch this now, | |
| Lyrics Born: | |
| Your last dinner in my chamber where I tempered weapons rendered from a rusty Ford fender, | |
| You get your steak and eggs, | |
| Your Caesar vinaigrette, | |
| Savor your cigarette, | |
| ' Cuz I' ma tape your lips, | |
| Become my marionette, | |
| You curtsy, pirouette, | |
| And when my blade caresses, | |
| I scrape my bayonet, | |
| You lose your favorite legs, | |
| I love that fragrance, | |
| Playful Pet! Yes I' m the patron saint of Dangerous, | |
| You slaying LaTyrx? | |
| You' re driving majorettes, | |
| Over some acreage. | |
| Lateef: | |
| As you sit there pensively, tentatively fidgeting with creation | |
| But you fuck ' round with this and you' ll get aten. | |
| Lateef: | |
| You gettin laid to rest | |
| Ain' t slayin' Latyrx | |
| You gettin laid to rest | |
| Over the Sunset' s edge |
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