... From Mole Hills

Basic blocks to breath topple under bare bleeding feet

Wince at stabbing pain in left lobe as mighty sword's unsheathed

Source of all life lies in East, the source of all life lies in East.

Feel the rumble of them bombed trains, third railed from beneath

I walk with tattered scrolls on these ill lonely streets

Babble last true tongue, could give a fuck where you from

Travel torn path, swung as pendulum

Now my thread of life's come undone

Remember back when Uzi's weighed a ton?

Now ever kid's got one.

Dipped in platinum bathed in aggression

Succumb to last temptation

Lost all my patience

Peace to last bastion:

Afrika... Zulu nation.

Lyrics laced with oils from inner works of mental reservoir

The world in ill discord

Pray to ancient ancestors

Pray to ancient ancestors.

Remember days of cardboard, fat lace, and krylon?

Microphones and twelves, tools we all relied on

Niggas dropped a verse, the thought was one to die on

I remember hip hop, that's my Mt. Zion.

Bygones be bygones so many souls wore thin

My world lies in famine, I wander with kinsmen

Through dismal slums of ignorance

Wash my hands in pool of absolution

Keep warm with torn blanket of revolution

Quite useless shut one's eyes once realized

You glide through this darkness

Embark upon this, solom crusade to save the only gift our God gave

The curse is manmade, designed to turn blessed to slaves

Forgave the weak minded two weeks into journey

Again travel untraveled road on scrapped knee

Broke bread with those bums who taught speech

In attempt to reach nirvana

Ye of poor karma,

None calmer in old age, young sage turn page on brittle text

There's no time left

What must I stress?

Demons colorless, infest our own earth

Immersed in tainted dirt

Could never quite quench my own thirst for ancient drums

There lies a language in the noise and the hum

Prepare for martyrdom, prepare for martyrdom

I speak that ancient tongue

There lies a language in (the noise and the hum)

Remember days of cardboard, fat lace, and krylon?

Microphones and twelves, tools we all relied on

Niggas dropped a verse, the thought was one to die on

I remember hip hop, that's my Mt. Zion.

Lost equilibrium, wish I fell to '85

Verbal vagabond blessed for being blind

Etched my paradigm in Sanskrit at age nine

So why these kids swear to God I'm unrefined?

Still swig from sacred liquid language

Poor as fuck but seem to manage

Non average urban savage

You living lavish when this world is pure survival

Best you hide in the corners of your mind for sitting idle

Breathing air is vital,

You pray to false idols

No feelings in recitals when you only search for titles

Feel so suicidal, but couldn't give you joy.

Four elements of this only for the B-boys (B-girls)