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(Verse #1, manchild) I got these blind musicians watching me listen to their songs/ And I think they're catching on there's a chance that I might not belong/ They got it wrong behind the rabid barks for justice/ Where you can support the cause from where the movement never touches/ Dearly beloved, I can see the devastation so clearly/ And the night sky protects me when I'm running with the moon/ I wanna help the lepers, I just don't want their sickness near me/ I guess if you can't sing the song, you can try to hum the tune/ I got these dues I'm paying and I guess I'm almost even/ When I was stepping to the A.M., I could have sworn I caught ya'll sleeping/ I rhyme for a reason beyond the regional limits that block them/ My double-sided tongue is sharp and it can't be boxed in/ They're caught between some rock/rap fusion garbage/ And a hard place to taste the truth and everybody makes do/ HEY YOU! Yeah, I'm sorry, you don't get to play today/ But after my crew wins the game, you can soak the coach with Gatorade/ It's safe to say you're a ways away from the action/ Your image is imaginary and this song is love-tapping you on the shoulder/ And asking, ?Is this what you had planned??/ While I'm slapping 'em senseless, you can feel free to bystand... (Hook) Can't really see from the cheap seats. Can't hear unless you listen/ Can't get on the field and play if you don't got the right equipment/ Can't hear what you're saying unless you step up to the mic/ SongtexteWanna see life? Well this is what it looks like/ Can't see from the cheap seats. Can't hear unless you listen/ Can't get on the field and play if you don't got the right equipment/ Can't hear what you're saying unless you step up to the mic/ Wanna see life? Well this is what it sounds like... (Verse #2, manchild) Conspiracy theorist backpackers, you don't have to run any faster/ The government's not really after you, kiddo, you're just a rapper/ But slave masters to exist, so point at them and wave your fist/ Media's agenda becomes the mark on your head and plus your wrist/ This is just in case you doubted that Mars ILL was about it/ We linked with Bigg Justoleum for this public service announcement/ You are not your outfit or the car that you drive/ Commercials keep you needing what you don't really need to survive/ You grow sedated, addicted to a lifestyle/ Planned parents become barren, juggling a choice and a child/ Of course it's a trial to speak loud and walk straight/ I've found a voice is a terrible thing to waste/ Wake Up! Take up your cross-section of the populace and follow/ You're not promised tomorrow/ So just move, move, we can't stop speaking until they all know/ We're not promised tomorrow... (Hook) (Verse #3, Bigg Jus) Seminal mimicry trickery gloomy cavalry garrisons/ Who battle charlatans who love night targeting/ The faintest comparison imbalancement crucially embarrassing/ So woefully inadequate/ Staring at other rhyme ancient and tailored so massive/ Armchair quarterback chemical ali HAZMAT/ You're just a little boy in a bubble with unrealistic dreams of a rap body double/ And rhyming as a meal-ticket/ That's why this culture got you lovesick/ Born word eternal, life orbit, Keebler elf timing/ Couldn't even flow on beat if the kick and snares were color coded/ With dreams of a new bullet-proof 7 all dubs and silvery/ But you lack any bass in your voice, cadence or delivery/ And there's already been two Agatha Christie unsolved rapper murder mysteries/ Don't let the sharks smell the bloody chum in the water/ And start a feeding frenzy/ Sometimes I feeling like I'm in an underground purgatory/ Trapped between materialistic playa gunfire/ And suburban nerdy voice, funny voice falsetto/ War prone with a howitzer patrolling the 33rd parallel rhyming no fly zones/ With homeland security all tainted and corrupted/ If you ain't coming with that '88 Daddy Kane R-A-W/ Like it was on the eve of destruction/ Trust me, don't even touch it/ Or get left on the side of the road and circled by buzzards/ Or fossilized in some tar pit/ We call it craps now they be triple and doubling it/ Ever since Tupac's style gave birth to quintuplets/ Biting is not a birthright, you starry eyed chipmunk/ Gazing in the 18-wheeler headlights, waiting for the collision/ Soccer-mommy waste of battle ammunition/ So younguns, we lop 'em off earlier than circumcision/ Stay hidden, Jiminy Crickets and all is forgiven/ This was craft worked at Dust's crib/ Then manchild slid to haunted gorilla silver back mountain lion of Judah/ These bear paws hide zirconium claws made for pouncing/ Even though I don't eat meat anymore/ It's just order of selection prototype/ MC's look tasty like melon, tofu and curry rice. Mmmmmm/ Succulent with the slightest hint of lime/ Way up in the nosebleed seats with torn ACL's on the sidelines/ Coming rougher than one time with colorful things that go bump in the night/ And magical 180 reverse suplex clotheslines/ You need to slow down and think twice/ You ain't a risk taker with the flow. You're a risk taker with your life... (Hook) Aus Songtexte Mania