Lyrics k–os – Zambony
Text:
On the microphone like,
God bless this planet, planet,
Took like for granted, granted
This mic, mechanical, panic,
God hold it single handed
Times like a left-handed bandit
When right handed man
This bandit planned it
And propagandized it or Canada
It’s so on ice and so raw
And yeah move yeah so for power like thinking a soldier
Would fall to his knees to serve golden caps and such
To esoteric to touch but atmospheric enough to
Grab like a pink cat, tag on a wall,
B-boys at the park while DJ’s rock the party
And MC’s serve cooked food like Mr. pounded it
Back in the days when there’re rights
Are we the wrongs, kid?
But now the silly songs and electrical concerts
Though live for a luppa I will just drop sixteen bombs on it
Life and death they roll in Siamese twins
So the day that hip-hop dies
Another life could begin
And we continue to…
Times like a left-handed bandit
When right handed man
This bandit planned it
And propagandized it or Canada
It’s so on ice and so raw
And yeah move yeah so for power like thinking a soldier
Would fall to his knees to serve golden caps and such
To esoteric to touch but atmospheric enough to
Grab like a pink cat, tag on a wall,
B-boys at the park while DJ’s rock the party
And MC’s serve cooked food like Mr. pounded it
Back in the days when there’re rights
Are we the wrongs, kid?
But now the silly songs and electrical concerts
Though live for a luppa I will just drop sixteen bombs on it
Life and death they roll in Siamese twins
So the day that hip-hop dies
Another life could begin
And we continue to…
On the microphone like this, on the microphone like that,
On the microphone like this, on the microphone like that,
On the microphone like this, on the microphone like that,
On the microphone like this, on the microphone like,
All around the world, we move it up
And yo we keep things striving
So high from heaven to the deep blue sea
(Listen), I am not indie rock I was indeed hip-hop
With many styles I’m from the trine-ibal stop.
No comma, I’m my father’s persona,
I’m ready to spin my beat and maybe one day can meet my momma
Slides, I’m slinging verbs, my intent is not sinister, son of a minister
A bible thumping commissioner, finished an album
Scrap and draped in the nostalgia of cafeteria title
Battle just me and Nigel.
Now they spinning wax sticks, the back seat cracks
I can’t entertain us like Kevin can’t relax.
Yell I’m spinning thoughts with anti-gravital force
Shoot the monkey off my porch
And pass myself the torch to light it up…
(Listen), I am not indie rock I was indeed hip-hop
With many styles I’m from the trine-ibal stop.
No comma, I’m my father’s persona,
I’m ready to spin my beat and maybe one day can meet my momma
Slides, I’m slinging verbs, my intent is not sinister, son of a minister
A bible thumping commissioner, finished an album
Scrap and draped in the nostalgia of cafeteria title
Battle just me and Nigel.
Now they spinning wax sticks, the back seat cracks
I can’t entertain us like Kevin can’t relax.
Yell I’m spinning thoughts with anti-gravital force
Shoot the monkey off my porch
And pass myself the torch to light it up…
All around the world, we move it up
And yo we keep things striving
So high from heaven to the deep blue sea
All I ever wanted to do
Was show you had faith in you
But now I help you through the fire
You’re so different baby
You always got something to say
But it’s more about the things you do
Got me singing yeah eh yeah eh yeah
