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[INTRO] |
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[Verse 1: Ghostpoet] |
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I want to shout out |
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All those people who left me to mourn |
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Who didn't bite lips yeah I've got scorn |
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KFC bucket-load born in the South but want to get North |
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Now I've got dreams but they're mixed up in the puddles of the mind |
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And I need time: |
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Casio, Seiko, Diesel, whatever |
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It's my United K of Whatever |
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I ain't too clever with this like chips spit whenever the weather |
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Feel much better |
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This spare endeavours got me engrossed like birds of a feather |
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I bought me some leather |
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But I ain't satisfied |
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Life on the gritty side is hard at best |
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I beat on my chest to blow out all the cobwebs im feeling, needing |
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Much more revealing, much more revealing but I ain't finished |
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[Hook: Ghostpoet] |
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I just ain't finished |
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I just ain't finished |
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I got tonnes in my brain I've got to get it out |
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I just ain't finished |
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I just ain't finished |
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I got tonnes in my brain I've got to get it out |
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[Verse 2: Ghostpoet] |
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Scream and shout, shake it all about |
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And when a little nervous I just jiggle it about |
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You know what I'm talking about |
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I won't just shout it out |
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Start talking air like late night telly-shopping |
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Used to think 'Damn I'm nothing' Little Voice dont lose sight |
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Lifes too short just to give up now |
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So I gain upper lit |
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It's the apocolypse of doubting, wallowing and dry-mouth-swallowing |
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And seek some solitude creating a latitude and formed an attitude of 'go go get it' |
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And I won't quit at it |
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Cut me a P right [?] |
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Hemmorhage try triple nines on traction [?] |
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Please don't think I won't go for my art |
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And ashes in the wind all the way to the stars |
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And over the mountains and over the cars |
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And reincarnate and come back to the start |
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[Hook] |
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[Verse 3: Ghostpoet] |
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What they say and what they done |
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This all looks plain under the sun like |
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These are all the same to me |
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I see untrained history |
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I'm like what they say and what they done |
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This all looks plain under the sun like |
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These are all the same to me |
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Untrained history |
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[Hook] x 2 |
