Twin Peaks - MF Mez, Hasan Salaam, MF Grimm

These are the motions that the messengers spoke of

The makers are the owners, in control of their culture

It’s all love and peace—keep your gun and a toaster

B-boy, b-girls, move like you’re supposed ta

The melodies and harmonies stick to your ribs like

Hominy grits in the winter, you dig?

I’ll offer what I alter as my life on a bridge

My style stay halal, never fuck with the pigs

The lesson that you getting isn’t off my rib, and if

Shorty reflecting, I’m reborn through my kids

The only thing is I don’t want to pass ‘em down my sins

Have ‘em have to walk a mile in my Timbs

It’s hard to ignore the allure of Shayṭān and his

Jinns when your stomach’s on E with no ends

So you could consider this the rebirth of the cool, calm

And collected—mama didn’t raise no fool.

Drop

Jewels and golden rules that they left out of school

When I dropped out of school, landed in a cesspool, see?

All the lies that the teachers tell us

All these rhymes about the bullshit the TV sell us

We are the lost tribe in the wilderness of the West

Stolen from the best part, now they’re scorching the flesh

Blood run through the Nile, she too sore to caress

Newborns taste the sickness when they sip from a breast

Bad food and false knowledge, that’s a lot to digest

So I guess that’s we hide our lows and get high

Spend what little we got to go out and get fly

‘Cause it’s easier to get high than get by

So we try to keep our minds in the sky ‘til we try to supply

Valentine, I could do that when I die

Sleep is for the weak, and my life been stoned.

The North

Light, I shine like that’s the prose in the poem

A lot of people want to know what trip I’m on, but it’s

The Underground Railroad taking us on—come on.

A lot of

People want to know what trip I’m on, but it’s

The Underground Railroad taking us on—come on

These are the motions that the messengers spoke of

The makers are the owners, in control of their culture

It’s all love and peace—keep your gun and a toaster

B-boy, b-girls, move like you’re supposed ta

I’ll move with the music, groove to the basics

Bass hits boom in your system.

Let’s move like

It’s fluent language, change it to spitting

Do as the loosest, bang in the whip when

You’re cruising, meditate.

Let me set it straight:

You’re forever fake ‘cause you choose to be stupid

I was a criminal, it’s typical shit

Pitiful, so I’m losing that mental state

Fuck it.

There’s no use for it anyway

Every day, I’m chasing the dream of paper and cream

Bread to break for my team, placed it in a safe, escaped

From the scene to a place where my face isn’t seen

Away from haters and snakes, I’m changing my fate

But running away wasn’t the way.

I’m able

To see, confront it.

Love it or hate it, take it

For what it is.

It’s crazy, you see?

I switched from

Guns to hands, ones to grands from

Hands to guns, grands back to ones—damn!

It’s a trap like maximum, but I

Gotta be a man ‘til I’m done in my casket wall

These are the motions that the messengers spoke of

The makers are the owners, in control of their culture

It’s all love and peace—keep your gun and a toaster

B-boy, b-girls, move like you’re supposed ta

So many asked me how I keep going

Keep flowing, keep showing that I’m

A forced to be reckoned with, not to be ignored

Hated by most, a few do adore

Watched downfall, then they saw me

Rise to occasion, fix situation

Change occupation, become master builder

Look at blueprints, redesign nation

Come test me?

What give ‘em that notion?

Foes be clumsy, swing in slow motion

Look at ‘em breathing hard as I’m coasting

Wanna keep me down in Hell and stay roasting

It’s my time for me to make a change

I’m not happy, not satisfied

How could I be when most my people died?

Blacks are confused and eating freedom fries

Will we continue to lose our self?

Will we ever realize that we are the wealth?

When we feel the whole hood, I’m still «For the Kids»

If I die alone tomorrow, I’m still dual-lift

Patrick Ewing degrees, I’m showing it

Nothing’s new under the Sun.

What hovers over it?

I’m a slave to the rhythms—for masters, I’m owning it

Merchandising?

Owning it.

Publishing?

Owning it

Percy Carey’s a free man, so I’m patrolling it

Destiny is in my hands, and I’m controlling it

These are the motions that the messengers spoke of

The makers are the owners, in control of their culture

It’s all love and peace—keep your gun and a toaster

B-boy, b-girls, move like you’re supposed ta