Lyrics:
ahead
Drop lines like a editor popping Them Drop
Bleeding the color red from toxins That bled
From the artery, I know apart of Me Dread's
My
on my mind
So I can't go there or I'll see you
And I don't want to cross that line
'Cos when tomorrow comes
I can't escape it and I will always find
I'm
and line,
Submitted with a heart full of hope, to judgement so blind.
The editor's cold embrace, swift to undercut my stride,
"Relevance lacking," so it
another lie
Publishing one last headline
Which no one could read between the lines
We don't know how we're gonna do
But we'll meet the deadline, we'll meet
I’ve been holding down, scheming
How’s it seem?
I’m leaving
Looks to me and gleans,
Screening, screening
What I believe in,
But I’m concealing
Take
open to see
The thin line of truth and sanity
The dying eyes behind the scenes obscured
By a cardboard world of reality
The media moshes frantically
around sayin' ban the bums
I jumped right in line, sayin' I hope that I'm not late
When I realized I hadn't eaten for five days straight
I went into
around sayin' ban the bums
I jumped right in line, sayin' I hope that I'm not late
When I realized I hadn't eaten for five days straight
I went into
And they bored you
But I don't want to cry
Or talk for hours
To a machine on the end of a telephone line
Oh it just kills me when all you've got
Dear Mister Editor, if you choose
Please send me a copy of the labor news
I've got a son in the infantry
And he'd be mighty glad to see
That someone,
a Guernsey cow
Who directed me down
To the Bowery slums
Where people carried signs around
Saying, "Ban the bums"
I jumped right into line
Sayin', "I hope
frock thing
The nips may be good but that grilled cheese was a mess
Gordon! Ramsay
Your YouTube editor's a genius
They meme you harder than you'd ream us
bitches fake I guess you could call them editors
Salaam Alaikum mother fucker I'mma let it hurt
Keep my shit one thousand
Hope you bitches counting
Spray
haven't grown since you told them in a lunch line, bro
You're an eight-year-old boy stuck inside a whatever-year-old man
"Argh! Look at me! I'm EpicLLOYD!
of the film is hard to write
How do you sit through all the rest?
Ordinary with no extra is the test
I drop that line uproarious bar
You seduce me in
were slavers and poor-man crushers.
Meanwhile, Jerilderie's newspaper editor a man named Mr Gill was chasing up a story.
He'd heard about four new
just characters in a movie
Maybe the editors say we're meant to be
But I don't want to ruin the future, love
I want to know a way we can mess this up
every time you try and ring my line, I swear it could be her this time
And I might just lose my mind
And now I'm crying on the telephone, in dirty
like The Predator
Fuck you, your label moms and yo' editor
Give you two to the jugular, blood be spreadin
All on my shirt, the king of the flirt
souped up - you're still wack
I peel caps, on the regular
Destroy MC's et cetera, creep like The Predator
Fuck you, your label moms and yo' editor
Give you
in twenty-five lines
On your mindset
Infra-skunk-structure
The editor bedraggled, stumbled
Some were hurt, some dazed
With film crew, their
selling tickets to the show (for sure)
Tell them niggas this screening is closed
So every little thirsty nigga knows
That shit is mine
I don't wanna
Something strange is going on
And you're in the middle
I'll do anything to solve the riddle
I've got a city editor
Put me on a deadline
If I
get you souped up
You still wack
I peel caps on the regular
Destroy emcees etcetra
Hooped like the Predator
Fuck you, your label, moms, and yo editor
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