Same old story your morning glorys reached noon too soon its outa boom
reflection in a spoon distorted and stretched, in my notepad etched like a wrinkle in time
my rhymes are like a lime hit your ears so sour,
step on a flower debate hippie power. fuck bein PC veiws been wrecked checked by inspector
I've seen the tracks of the imperialist bands in their big steel vans
clairvoyant rockers though we kick it till the end heroes back now attack epicenter
Cuz im spacin off a nouveau hippie chill in this life or deciphering code butter ornery like a knife
rock many ways through this strife
buddahs so close its impairing my sight distressed none the less cuz i can't read my girls letters but as i rest i must confess that my tea tastes better rock preach the word of sound keepin you wrapped in my
'say what'
Many moons have passed now we rock this shit buddah the vibe suitor cuz too many cats got their ways. wicked ornery with dependance on me to uphold that flow break the monotone mindstate. Down with the mercenary sound as i sit on the curb spit a verb to a passerby. let em know that i see straight don't debate my peice just soul swing on that.
Ive seen the tracks of the imperialist bands they say 'fuck you man'
eclectic poets though we swing it till the end once again now defend
epicenter
