Conduit
02-16-07, 03:17 PM
written to El-P/Cannibal Ox "Pigeons" beat. Here's "my verse"
Call it the politics of opposites, and imagine with me (fathom, sissy) how it all came to be: my thin feet damaging fantasies // I sport two wings, and a span that steals tans from the faceless, on a block where you get props on a superficial basis // I am in flight, my back facing the basics, and with my gut in your face I can see why you'd call the air up here tasteless // but let's take a step back first: I've got two feet and a reach that takes me from a-to-b efficiently // but you'd rather walk in misery // ill-equipped? no. the company you keep feeds your energy... you all are chicks with chapped lips that pick at the seeds of a city's memory // my diet is filled with a quiet I can't really speak on, and in my quest to find the words my arms spread across to cover the surface area lost in my descent from... well... let's call it a premature landing // but I'm not supposed to be here, my fly was fashioned to fill air // my flight was made to instill fear, my fear is that in a year I'll be halfway into the heavens and all you doves will still be chillin' here // dude, I was bred fused with points of view too numerous to count, check the quills still in my right fist that move air in large amounts // on account of your own apathy I'm led to think you love the street... and I used to, but I got over it... now I carry your dreams in my feet
Call it the politics of opposites, and imagine with me (fathom, sissy) how it all came to be: my thin feet damaging fantasies // I sport two wings, and a span that steals tans from the faceless, on a block where you get props on a superficial basis // I am in flight, my back facing the basics, and with my gut in your face I can see why you'd call the air up here tasteless // but let's take a step back first: I've got two feet and a reach that takes me from a-to-b efficiently // but you'd rather walk in misery // ill-equipped? no. the company you keep feeds your energy... you all are chicks with chapped lips that pick at the seeds of a city's memory // my diet is filled with a quiet I can't really speak on, and in my quest to find the words my arms spread across to cover the surface area lost in my descent from... well... let's call it a premature landing // but I'm not supposed to be here, my fly was fashioned to fill air // my flight was made to instill fear, my fear is that in a year I'll be halfway into the heavens and all you doves will still be chillin' here // dude, I was bred fused with points of view too numerous to count, check the quills still in my right fist that move air in large amounts // on account of your own apathy I'm led to think you love the street... and I used to, but I got over it... now I carry your dreams in my feet