Show Lyrics

DeepSpace5 - Joywriting
(from the album The Night We Called It a Day)
© copyright 2001

Verse 1: Sev Statik
Well if I'm first I might as well make this verse something/
You want t listen to, maybe give you a visual of light/
Illumination for dark times, I'm able just to walk with loneliness/
Mic sparking, clashing, so to be smashing out these deep flows/
Paying dues is often the cost/
For a professional, I'm exceptional when/
I send thoughts into soldier type fashion/
March to a hidden part of the pen/
Splashing out onto the page, words drop in brigades/
Non-stop brain waves 24-7/
Shine or rain, I stay repping/
To hold down this black ink, more effective than oppression/
I'm letting out loud screams I'm hearing these ghost writers on the scene/
Invisible to the rest but I know who they possess/
Control your text before your mouth starts rhyming/
Sintax, Listener, Sev, we're joywriting.

Hook:
We're going joywriting as we rhyme across the map/
With our thoughts shining concepts right into your lap/
When we write verbs to link words from ink blurs/
It comes out fresh to impress on the paper.
(Repeat)

Verse 2: Listener
I lay the groundwork, throw on about ten layers of intricacies/
Shrouded delicately through a buried sea/
But doesn't matter when you really don't care or see/
That I love it, seems like lunacy to chase it all so blindly/
Catching me so off guard I'm questioning how much you're/
Feeling me, I could scream like hostages about/
How much the man keeps me down or/
I could complain like the handicapped/
About how my lyrics sound and how it's not accessible, but I won't/
I should impress my rap-name on your mind like it's a leather belt/
And I might try to make you feel guilty about how/
I'm so underground and you're the commercialist/
Soil on top of me..well/
I'll just lay the groundwork and stay content with my beats/
Mixed in concrete sheets with word repeats/
Phonetically bound by threads of concept pleats/
Recycled into thoughts unique.

Hook:

Verse 3: Sintax
My Father's prize possession is a Pilot ball point pen/
He keeps it freshly polished and seldom is it written/
But He left last week and so I took it for a spin/
Joywriting with my friends, swerving in and out the margin/
Pardon my pleasure because I'm reckless when I grin/
I never look before I laugh because that's a waste of inhibition/
Cross double punchlines and keeping traffic on their toes/
I've got em ducking into stitches as I'm steering down the road/
Offroad imagination goes wherever you suppose/
Compose in 4-wheel drive to survive the highs and lows/
I'm a Patouine Jedi fully trained in the art/
My heart Metacholorean count is off the charts/
Trained with Obe 1 Kenobe in the early morning sun/
Spit sound surround like Dolby when I breathe through speaker lungs/
Riding bareback on a banth across the sands of Tantouine/
Using the force to chart my course holding the hands of Elohim/
Who bends my will to win, pod racing on the outer rim/
Deepspacing as I'm chasing down ideas with my pen/
Lament for the loss and pray for peace so kids can cope/
Spit hope, love and joy with every flick of the scripter's pen stroke.

Hook: