I Can Hear The Angels, Angels) So whats in the Psychic World of Walter Reed. With the mic I see Isis and my rhymes open up the portals for mortals to see. Theyre immortals, gods kings all calling for me. Talk and giving me ideas from Heavy Mental to the portrait of the Offering CD. Oftenly negative thoughts cause distortion so I take caution when I lead. So I look both ways before crossing my mind. Watch for signs stay along each of my line. Placing my rhymes envelopes of quotes in the inside pockets of the jackets of history. Over the long T-Shirt of infinity. Which hides the heart of the city. I use both palms to shake the hands on a clock. Time stops, I make honey come from the rocks. I took my rhyme and buried it deep into the sands of time. Let the salt water nourish it, it wont grow into a plant with something you can climb. First it starts from a pebble to a hill and to a mountain. Which will pour sweet waters from this fountain. I am the biology of this belief. Hip Hop isfull of stars I can read the astrologies of the streets. Psychology of the Priest, deeper as the philosophies of the greeks, the prophecies from the east. My mind holds the forbidden science, when Im writing. Can I get a witness when Im rhyming. Can I hear amen, been doing this before cavemen. Been doing this before the ancient of language. Look at somebody and say God is not dead. Just nod your head and listen to the bars that I said. Words from the matrix, my eyes are the space ship. My mouth is the oasis, I zone on these phrases (I Can Hear The Angels, Angels) But hold up, see why I look in the sky. Inside of my soul hold the souls of all 12 tribes, and each of them are channeling prayers to the Most High. Simultaneously and at different times. My right palms hold the strokes of 1 Million scribes. Disguise as all 27 bones inside. After my poem designs, then I zone off the rhyme. In the black mist I exist, I spit then the sun was born. Using positive and negative, pro tons and electrons rhymes with nuclear explosions. The atoms composing the weak and strong. And in the 1 billionth of a second the galaxies was formed. Meteor showers, comets blast loud and quiet storms. In my magnificent mind the problem was solves. But lets get creative, the rhyme is sedative. And I heard these phrases (Outro) Look up into the heavens. You see theres a vertical multitudes of stars going across the empty spaces. Which the Whole Infinity of Days might come down on us. How shall we not stand astonished and abashed and seeing in the midst of Heaven and what greatest still that a sovereign Lord who made it. PWOWRHoekema, Keita, Hip Hop is not dead. Its been denied, Malcolm Lyricism, is not dead. From the psychic mind of Walter Reed. Hip Hop is not dead, it is not dead, it is not dead-Killah Priest-
Posted on: Sun, 17 Aug 2014 21:21:47 +0000
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