10:36pm

Song: 10:36pm

Album: Run With It

Artist: G8

Written by Toussaint Morrison

Released October 26, 2006

ref: http://g8band.bandcamp.com/track/10-36pm

I’m in steady movement through the city’s grid

Similar to public transit busses and police bullets

Life or death dodge ball on this asphalt campus

Meet me under the staircase around 1 between classes

I’m avid and organized against all authority

No hallway monitor or principle could get a hold’a me

I speak my themes globally, bold prose and openly

Y’all cats is a similar style to Mokujin

Carbon copied, great plagarism

Never done dirt, but ya rock the gangster image

It’s not my place to say what is or what isn’t

A valid image of truth in this delusional system

But whoever, however, whenever starts talkin’ a heatwave

And gets the representin’ of rough streets in Green Bay

I gotta slap the sociology in their ignorant head

Take that ass to Flatbush, kid, and get your 

-

Chorus

Head checked hard enough you can see past the

Next step. Baby, walkin’ these streets ya get

Rest-less as the night gets colder, 

I carry the burden like a backpack on my shoulders

So, express one love to the beat

And get bed rest. Not so quick to speak headin’ to the 

Next keg. Yeah, we all get down,

But how low depends on what’s comin’ out of our mouths

-

I rock more phones than coke addict telemarketers

And handle the pen with the skilled hands of an old carpenter

My flow spills like a broken faucet, cold and honest

My hope’s soaked and cloaked in vomit

I’m a broken promise while my faith is in a state of unconsciousness

No signs of life, no responses

I give nothing to stay positive. My word is bond, kid.

Understand that and who the boss is

‘Cos it’s not me and sure as hell isn’t you

These buildings stand above us both to hold the truth of livin’ proof

That your life is only worth what ya fight for

And if you’re fightin’ for your penis envy then you’re no more than a mic whore

Hip-Hop prostitute, y’all cats see and ya follow it

Until ya hit the dead end of a hollow tip

Reality’ll turn your throwback to a red dress

And I’ma keep on marchin’ and singin’ ‘til your

Chorus

I date the devil herself