DeepSpace5 - Take The Rhythm
(from the album The Night We Called It a Day)
© copyright 2001
I like to keep her in my pocket when the fans watch/
But I'm the one to pull her pigtails when we play out in the sandbox/
And hands stop clapping when manCHILD's plan's not to/
Rock upon the rhythm when he rocks you/
My shock values electrify and light your darkest secrets/
Ride the beat. I'll walk beside it on foot if that's the way I feel it/
And if that's the way I feel it, there's no chance that you'll convince me/
Off the beaten path of substance plus you left the rhythm empty.
I exel on spreadsheets to freak the journalistic/
Captivate the rhythm and ride with my linguistics/
Performing with the loops let the sentence bring drama/
Beni Hahna avenger with the heart of Shama/
Untitled God sound, astound the freedom fighter/
I stay behind the scenes like medical underwriters/
Highlight a parable grammar fluorescent to see/
Split your brain up in sections as a lesson for three.
I state fact and playback to rate wack take back/
Rhythm like an Indian giver, deliver inside of this metronome/
Where poem hits you and splits/
Inside my spirit where my vocal transmits/
Rhythm's key so I'm setting her free, ninety degree/
Pushing clockwise, keeping it quantized and off-wise/
Over the beat we meet in deepspace/
Place rhythm in the palm of my hand as contraband.
Now, we are rappers rhyming rap-style rhymes/
With our DJ's tracking beats to crack spines/
With some blatant accusations pointed straight for your crew/
Then you stutter to defend you are real, oh are you?.
Hook: Dust on the cuts.
Hey there rhythm, it's me again, tell me, how ya been?/
I guess the middleman could be this pen/
I use to talk to and walk through they chalk you/
Traced around your silhouette cause how ill it get/
But watch the intellect resurrect, check God's purpose/
Give me a hat confirming that you truly heard this/
Yeah, there you go, I show improve just to move/
Make the rocky path smooth while I'm taking back the groove.
Yeah, yeah, yeah admittedly I'm jaded/
But please don't blame it on my freestyle or my content or my cadence/
Or my blatant disregard of the rhythm slash the drum sounds/
It's just the fact that I got a lot to say and it can't be dumbed down/
I told you that I'm unsound, so deep I make the young drown/
Dumbfound with one noun with Fred B and Harry Krum now/
Unbound, I stand at the foot of the cross there intersected/
Yo, I'll take the rhythm any way that I can get it.
I break the PowerPoint while your Microsoft attempts/
Are just some weak demonstrations that are over the fence/
Your train of thought dissipates like smoke from incense/
I'm doing wind sprints, using my voice as testament/
With the golden folklore onlookers would hope for/
Prolific, Ziontific phonetic compos-or/
Revise your whole score, write it out on dirt floor/
Put the rhythm in my soul til it secretes my pore.
I've got a crown of white wisdom hidden below my ballcap/
I'm pencil fight fencing just to take the rhythm back/
But if emceeing is believing then Sintax just left you doubtless/
Syncopated the rhythm to the pulse of God's verse.
And I'll take the reflection of music and use it to inspire men/
Comply with the laws of physics and send this written around the globe/
For those beings who live to be free/
No holds barred, transform the sun, moon and stars.
Hook: Dust on the cuts again.
Letters walk parallel with tracks I spit on/
On the threshold of stress, push through with stiff arm/
Maneuver the pen in slow motion on the canvas/
Your raps ain't fat, the populous is still famished.
I'm hearing breeze from the treetops present in the beatbox/
Sober like a detox room/
I come to consume the volume take the rhythmous spoon/
Odiferous with the fume in full bloom, I assume.
Tie a ribbon around the rhythm; earmark it for the future/
MC's lost their motivation like housepets that spade and neutered/
Play the tutor, make the most, stay the course, make decisions/
Wake the sleeping, take a chance, shake the world, take the rhythm.
Many words of faith placed inside blue line prison bars/
Divine intervention to easily discard/
Fake Knuckas perpetrating on wax, CD's and tapes/
So I take the rhythm to a new place and mold a new shape.
Hook: Dust once again.