If all it took was luck I would already be struck
Yeah caught by the good life waiting to wake up
But it's more like disaster born as a bastard
Turned into king or the dreams that you're after
If all it took was luck I would already be struck
Yeah caught by the good life waiting to wake up
But it's more like disaster born as a bastard
Turned into king or the dreams that you're after
These days have been crazed I've been raised
In the city of angels that've been slayed
Men played the children games with real guns
Cops n' robbers and cowboys and Indians
I survive to twenty-five in the sun
Under the moon in the twilight with my hearts drum
Beating the same beat my ancestors came from
(And there is only one x2)
Pow-wow circles and peace pipes
Greet a storyteller spelling out the key to life
My shell's a gun now still I carry them
And my spirit not the dirt that they're buried in
I've grown very thin living off of bread and water
Books, paintings, film and sex (and the marijuana)
And the music that's been therapeutic for the trauma
My songs bring me clarity they also make me wander
Now I'm standing in the London fog
I think I Lost Angeles and I smell the smog
My mind drifts to Amsterdam I see the dawn
I'm in my beach house in Cape Town then flash it's gone
If all it took was luck I would already be struck
Yeah caught by the good life waiting to wake up
But it's more like disaster born as a bastard
Turned into king or the dreams that you're after
If all it took was luck I would already be struck
Yeah caught by the good life waiting to wake up
But it's more like disaster born as a bastard
Turned into king or the dreams that you're after
Rats n' mice with wings circle above
Pigeon or dove, who even really gives a fuck?
The names that you call for it all
Hear me grunt about the things I saw (I can still see em')
A careful widening rings a being
Been feeding on the hardwood floor
About to kiss the ceiling
I'm sick of kneeling I need a prayer I can walk through
Into the house built from everything I thought I ruined
If this the house where the couch at?
Try'na smoke a sack and write raps
Cut an opening above where the mics at
But sunlight slips right past
I wrote the illest shit you've never heard
Then left it in the street as an offering
Underneath the wing of a dead bird
Gemini be the shepherd and the herd
Both sides, deep down in the same spine
Should've fallen by the waist side
But I crawled out bass side
I spit wine through the grape vine
Here's the hope that my faith dies
I see the rope that it hangs by
If all it took was luck I would already be struck
Yeah caught by the good life waiting to wake up
But it's more like disaster born as a bastard
Turned into king or the dreams that you're after
If all it took was luck I would already be struck
Yeah caught by the good life waiting to wake up
But it's more like disaster born as a bastard
Turned into king or the dreams that you're after