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Hip Hop Forums => Hot Traxxx => Topic started by: Naturelle on November 02, 2007, 12:45:48 PM
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We Is a beautiful concept
At the verge of insanity I stand
My head I have detached, displayed
And viewed from all possible angles
Yet still pose confused in the gallery of love
The art in we, still fresh with a fragrance of hands
Sculptures, with feeling
I have awarded your mastery
And hung portraits on the walls of memory
An exhibition the colour of peacocks
Fine strokes of pa**ion
A splash of nerve
A mahogany frame of trust
And not words in the prime of talent
Could paint the spectrum of we
And we, artists, sketch life unclothed
Stars are audience
Unperfected needles, we scribe
But, maybe for sanity’s sake
It’s time for this model to change his pose
We, is a beautiful concept
But, we can never work out
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BLAQ PEOPLE ROCK
rumour has it
that the roots of rock as we know it,
score whispers of truth,
leave human records unspun,
in the form of, ambition-propelled,
note-streams.
rumour has it
that we, compositions of clay
who speak sand storms
in the dilect of rock
carry scoresheet of origin
as patterns of skin tone.
can u dig?
yeah, i can dig
for we have dug rock
and
played its tragedy on world stages
around necks of legends
between rock-breaks, base kicks and hi-hats,
we have given life and limb
improvised the art of digging rock
yet stand with a fistful of sound
as descendents of soil.
can you rock?
yeah, i can rock
for we have danced bullets
and rocked oppression out of fashion
tatooed rock on the tongue of memory
and now the world sings our name.
and who are we?
we are the under-miners
and under mines
we are undermined
migrant roadies who beat rock
we beat rock
we beat rock
we beat rock
and let the beat rock
with a gumboot beat-box
we let the beat rock
and thru unplugged volumes of rock
ruff jewels bare the rock crushed backs
in pursuite of their destiny to shine
While mine,
Is a legacy of blood
A chorus beneath the earth
Instruments of greed
We compose the riches of rock
Yet sing hunger to the night
My royalty is life
Unspoken it hurts
Buried in a verse
The irony of word
Truth spoken, unheard
On how we still fish the earth
And while you rhyme about platinum and gold
Music is the canvas and we paint secrets untold
When the album is done
And black label satisfies a black labour thirst
We play a new rhythm
Back stage, while you toast statues of our labour
We play a new rhythm
We beat rock and
Let the beat rock
We beat rock and
With a gumboot beat-box
We let the beat rock