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Deadlocked
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This is just a Voice Test for Phil Siarri a.k.a Dj Excellence
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British Hip Hop, Jehst type rapper from up north... Cold north east streets
Hey Everyone, thanks for stopping by the Site, I Should have more audio up as soon as i find somewhere to Record and hopefully ill get some other Mcs or producers to work with...
Song Info
Genre
Hip-Hop • Hip Hop General
Charts
#149,888 today Peak #907
#93,467 in subgenre Peak #489
Rights
Kenny Dixon ( Fken)
Uploaded
July 05, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.1 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
Every dialectic shapeshifts a makeshift shield of hatred I spit fire Quick fire Twist fire Roll a roach from a ripped flyer Tip toeing over ego trip wire Soft steppin on eggshells as hell beckons A bed of black rose petals on my twenty second With twenty seconds on the clock I kept many guessin A game of death threats met with defiance I bring stones for the riots While the right side of the brain extends through computer science Flicks fictionalise our lives In alliance with the Queen in the core of the hive Breeding parasites The wise read and analyse the scrolls Stolen souls dissolve in alcohol Master drunken pole A cold-hearted defence in this dungeon hole I hold hope for the globe in a closed palm Locked in a gold heart Lost and emotionally charged I chart progress Through this pain staking process Elimination of the grotesque (no less) This overblown mess left grown men stressed and suicidal Cyanide drips from the vinyl My vital signs fade I m trapped in a pessimist s mind-state A frozen emotional ice age My words form pictures Jigsaws built from torn scriptures A warped image A collage of small figments Inter-related Creative with raw English I walk with born sinners who talk business Subs and permanent fixtures Medicine man sippin elixirs Wettin my lips and lickin the rizlas Listening to enemy transmissions Sittin here pickin the splinters out of my flesh The fresh script inker Indica stick sticky fingers Balanced on the brink of drinking binges While friends sink syringes into their skin And it could all end in an instance With no one to discipline the infants Walking the ledge I stay nimble as ninjas My pen nib inches Closer and closer Ghosts in my dome stay closed in a coma Crows overhead Twisted as the trail we tred Most failed or fled Ended up jailed or dead But never me Eyes in the back of my head for any enemy Ready for them backstabbers Suited and booted on this black Sabbath Truly polluted by the pain I paint the blues on a blank canvas We re all judged by the same standards Saints gangsters and base heads in St Pancras It s plain madness My brain strains to make sense of We blaze ten spots This games deadlocked
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