Ecomog - Armand Hammer, Billy Woods, E L U C I D

Herbs and roots

Mixtape, white tea and only juice

Steam pots simmer under zinc roof

Law of the land, live and let die

I can’t seem to grasp time

Watching death and how it comes in threes

Chilli, garlic, ginger, head spinning, lord willing

There’s a line, as for me and mine

Dark bodies sent to Earth to usher in an unprecedented era

Of cosmic regeneration and happiness

Mysterious tale

The veil’s been lifted are you listening?

Crooked scales

Written in a gentrified art hotel in the motherland

Closing the gap between over and understanding

Doubling back when the tangent the papers use

Duel of the iron mic

Never made the news

To be seen and not seen at the same time is a mind fuck

Black buck

Niggas always wanna be the next white somebody

Respect the lineage, feel like I shadowbox with simians

All of my feelings I kinda write to

No photos please, I got warrants

Doran vipers with smiles made for pulling the juks

No such thing as a halfway crook be the mantra

Conjuring man hold my new flow

Totem pole always in cold

Don’t try to keep up

Let it take you

The phrase at the end of the day punctuate damn near everything he say

Bitter to the taste somebody’s got to pay, his laugh bray like brass

Crafts tales of unlikely escapades

Talk like a fool eyes searching your face

Knows you think you better

Wants you to know you ain’t

An even layer burnt cork over the greasepaint

You know what comes next

You already know the rest

You don’t need me to tell

You know I need the cheque

No respect no respect

Propeller hat, jaunty, surely you jest?

Yet double back to holler at your aunty

Put the work in the bastard

Get worked up over these manuscripts like Jack Torrance Shining,

you just rhyming

I gave them work like everybody do these assignments

Valuable silence in that asylum rented in shame

They built a monument to the violence

Way we play it don’t sound nothing like a violin

They got the bomb like uptown in ‘99

You can search far and wide for a hill on which to die

The rent’s still too damn high

Dead bent but still quite spry

They got the bomb like the Spike Lee joint

So no time to waste, get right to the point

The roach is never dead

That feeling is dread

Those that could fled

Laid in the coffin like a bed and each child walked up to kiss his bandaged head

Still remember something foul my uncle said

Yeah, I’mma carry that to the end