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letra de re:iteration - j-illa

if i sang you a song after a bong would you think it wrong? to know that i’m not stable even though i live both a nightmare while never scared coz i’m chasing my dream, the dream, making that routine cream like the wu team i sit back and spit fables while split personalities keep me able. check, check 1 2 this is true

turn the page and i’m rhyming again, fat sack of dro and i’m smokin’ again, sometimes i need to be alone and deal with the souls diversity like i’m surrounded by clones and clowns all a joke but wear a frown, can’t you see the destruction of individuality from consumer vulnerability to the image of what were losing. ironic, erratic, as i journey to “above the clouds” again turn that music up loud and fight back for what you want, life is a struggle for everyone, at some stage was forgotten and belittled, life’s just a sh-tty what a pity time to get gritty with the verse without curses coz my compelling spelling and story re-telling will have your b-tch wishin’ she’s sitting on my long white d-ck that’s the situation of reverberation for her entertainment im blessing the mic and this sh-t is getting real nice sitting back here twice will this sh-t suffice?

can’t even read my scrambling font, but you know you want all this g bliss your falling of a fiscal cliff don’t judge the writer of a real life, speaking truths for the benefit of all youth. don’t let anything in the way of you’re desire, we all tire but we must pursue the fire that burns away the weeds of despair, when life’s not fair think of what the future could be. believe: you will succeed
steer clear from the egos and extravagance of success and greed for with those habits of pride and gluttony you won’t be free. search peace for the world that surrounds you, seek to progress, eliminate distress, and compliment too, because you’ll never know when the hot neighbour wants to f-ck you! at the height of the game, take the blame and the cred to be a street bred king of the sea of lords that wing through the harbour city

we live by the port fremantle pubs listenin’ to dub and feelin’ a whole lot of sub, no chub like bronson or biggie in this city you know the sort, b-tches never take me to court they wanna come back like a that 7 star resort, and i never fought them off because as long as i’ve got a few hundred gloves no woman is without this harsh love every time you’re drinking, thinking, sinking, digesting the south western coastal vibe sit back and listen to something live and soulful, emotional, so you roll and splifff and kisss the roach like a coach ride through central park nyc you’re instantly transferred to new york, the teenage dork, nervous and shy to attempt the sly approach to a beautiful girl, feels like you could hurl. ahhhhhh

breathe in. breathe out. roll a cigarette. put on a bet that youll be fly beyond belief when it comes with relief watch the steaz multiply with ease bring peace from within but never pout
breathe in. breath out

but relax she’s smiling, displaying the perfect gap between her t–th and somewhere else beneath cheekily biting into seductive lips and blue eyes sending a sharp impulse to your hips. a flirt attack strips ya of rational thought as you’re re-taught the epitome of s-xy, take a few dexys and impress me and see this lonely stoner has an exceptional sensual p-ssion which may p-ss like fashions but leaves a lasting sense of satisfaction
you know i like the psychic variety, chaotic hypnotic entirety, psychotic tendencies i possess, bank on it and watch the interest mount up so whats-up? you know ive got the g flow so im saying yo my little bro if you can’t handle my addictions, the fictions and fascinations of creation then avoid me completely and discretely cry because you’ll never know why i chose to die

but while i can i’ll live with delight, shine bright and express this dark side that ignites and sparks the pr-nunciation, emanc-p-tion proclamation that my destination is the revolution of freedom and imagination. that’s that intimidation recreation

yeahhh my brother that’s sounding nice as a milf f-cker

smoke that “wicked old ganja tree” it grows to inspire thee

-alfred

- j illa

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