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Wut Metaphysical - Hand me my Gun
(from the album Last of the Metaphysical Poets)
© copyright 2006, Wut Metaphysical

Turn off your TV, cause Iím about to tell a vision
Until you read, books are word prisons
Settle back and let your mind find the rhythm
Have a sip of Deity with some honey for your wisdom
Wars rage count the reasons why you wait
You only got to 7 but infinityís innate
A sad state, stagnate, centered in your damnation
Pulsate, rotate, you can feel your heart racin
Clouds canopy insanity the storms rollin in
Too fast, blast under thunder when your headís enlighnin
Earth shift, armageddon, mind to outshine the sun
Had enough? Time to battle baby
Hand me my gun

Is this a death sentence? No itís a lifeline
Written letters paying debtors and dues when they combine
Learned to rhyme from Jahís sheep, at least thatís what I herd
So to reap is the phrase, Godís Son, thatís the Word
Hereís the one path that can lead your soul home
Itís not weed even though all the apostles got stoned
2420 AD sadly, kids be still paying homage to some 50 cent candy
And brand me wack cause I donít tap kegs
I tap scripture, not between some pigeon legs
Calmplex, like this beatís originator
Catch wreck, element, trigger finger on the fader

Lifeís hard, I hope your woman packs 9
All the way to term, and donít murder young minds
End signs, locust climb the skylines
Feel the vibration change the whole stage by design
Whenís time? I guess we never know
Forgot 3 too, thatís mistake numero uno
Sunsets, hair raised, will you be the last one?
Amp on, full gain, baby hand me my gun