Riding on the range,
I've got my hat - on,
I've got my boots - dusty.
I've got my saddle
On my horse.
He's called....T-t-t-t-t-trigger
Of course.
I wanna be a cowboy
and you can be my cowgirl
I wanna be a cowboy
and you can be my cowgirl
I wanna be a cowboy
(woman's voice)
Riding on the chuck wagon,
Following my man.
His name is Ted,
Can you believe that?
Camping on the prairie
Plays havoc with my hair.
Makes me feel quite dirty,
Though we all do sometimes
I wanna be a cowboy
and you can be my cowgirl
I wanna be a cowboy
and you can be my cowgirl
I wanna be a cowboy
Looking like a hero,
Six-gun at my side,
Chewing my tobacco.
Out on the horizon,
I see a puff of smoke.
Indians on the warpath,
(Indian voice) White man speak-em with forked tongue.
Or not.
I wanna be a cowboy
and you can be my cowgirl
I wanna be a cowboy
My name is Ted,
And one day I'll be dead yo yo
A child was born, with no state of mind
Blind to the ways of mankind
God is smiling on you but hes frowning too
Cause only God knows what you go through
You grow in the ghetto, living second rate
And your eyes will sing a song of deep hate
The places you play and where you stay
Looks like one great big alley way
Youll admire all the number book takers
Thugs, pimps, pushers and the big money makers
Driving big cars, spending twenties and tens
And you wanna grow up to be just like them
Smugglers, scrambles, burglars, gamblers
Pickpockets, peddlers and even pan-handlers
You say Im cool, Im no fool
But then you wind up dropping out of high school
Now youre unemployed, all null n void
Walking around like youre pretty boy floyd
Turned stickup kid, look what you done did
Got send up for a eight year bid
Now your man is took and youre a may tag
Spend the next two years as an undercover fag
Being used and abused, and served like hell
Till one day you was find hung dead in a cell
It was plain to see that your life was lost
You was cold and your body swung back and forth
But now your eyes sing the sad sad song
Of how you lived so fast and died so young
You are sleeping off your demons
when I come home.
Spittle bubbling on your lips,
fine white foam.
I am young and I am good.
It's a hot southern California day.
If I wake you up,
There will be hell to pay.
And alone in my room,
I am the last of a lost civilization,
And I vanish into the dark,
And rise above my station.
Rise above my station.
But I do wake you up, and when I do,
You blaze down the hall and you scream.
I'm in my room with the headphones on,
Deep in the dream chamber.
And then I'm awake and I'm guarding my face,
Hoping you don't break my stereo,
Because it's the one thing that I couldn't live without.
And so I think about that,
And then I sort of black out.
Held under these smothering waves,
By your strong and thick-veined hand,
But one of these days,
I'm gonna wriggle up on dry land.
Feel the rhythm with your hands
Steal the rhythm while you can, spoonman
Speak the rhythm on your own
Speak the rhythm all alone, spoonman
Spoonman, come together with your hands
Save me, Im together with your plan
Save me
All my friends are indians
All my friends are brown and red, spoonman
All my friends are skeletons
They beat the rhythm with their bones,
Spoonman
Feel the rhythm with your hands
Steal the rhythm while you can, spoonman
Thank you, good night people
I want to be rich and I want lots of money
I don’t care about clever I don’t care about funny
I want loads of clothes and I want loads of diamonds
I heard people die while they are trying to find them.
And I’ll take my clothes off and it will be shameless
Cuz everyone knows that’s how you get famous
I’ll look at the sun and I’ll look in the mirror
I’m on the right track yeah I’m on to a winner
[Chorus]
I don’t know what’s right and what’s real anymore
I don’t know how I’m meant to feel anymore
When do you think it will all become clear?
‘Cuz I’m being taken over by The Fear
Life’s about film stars and less about mothers
It’s all about fast cars concussing each other
But it doesn’t matter cause I’m packing plastic
and that’s what makes my life so truely fantastic.
And I am a weapon of massive consumption
And its not my fault it’s how I’m programmed to function
I’ll look at the sun and I’ll look in the mirror
I’m on the right track yeah we're on to a winner
Chorus
I don’t know what’s right and what’s real anymore
I don’t know how I’m meant to feel anymore
When do you think it will all become clear?
‘Cuz I’m being taken over by The Fear
Forget about guns and forget ammunition
Cause I’m killing them all on my own little mission
Now I’m not a saint but I’m not a sinner
Now everything's cool as long as I’m gettin thinner
Some people might say my life is in a rut,
But I'm quite happy with what I got
People might say that I should strive for more,
But I'm so happy I cant see the point.
Something's happening here today
A show of strength with your boys brigade and,
I'm so happy and you're so kind
You want more money - of course I don't mind
To buy nuclear textbooks for atomic crimes
And the public gets what the public wants
But I want nothing this society got -
I'm going underground, (going underground)
Well the brass bands play and feet start to pound
Going underground, (going underground)
Well let the boys all sing and the boys all shout for tomorrow
Some people might get some pleasure out of hate
Me, I've enough already on my plate
People might need some tension to relax
[me? ] I'm too busy dodging between the flak
What you see is what you get
You've made your bed, you better lie in it
You choose your leaders and place your trust
As their lies wash you down and their promises rust
You'll see kidney machines replaced by rockets and guns
And the public wants what the public gets
But I don't get what this society wants
I'm going underground, (going underground)
Well the brass bands play and feet start to pound
Going underground, (going underground)
[so] let the boys all sing and the boys all shout for tomorrow
We talk and talk until my head explodes
I turn on the news and my body froze
The braying sheep on my TV screen
Make this boy shout, make this boy scream!
Going underground, I'm going underground!
If I were you (and I wish that I were you),
All the things I'd do to make myself turn blue
I suppose I'd start by removing all my clothes,
tie my pantyhose around my neck
I'll be that girl -- and you would be right over
If I were a field, you would be in clover
If I were the sun, you would be in shadow
And if I had a gun, there'd be no tomorrow
If you will not have me as myself,
perhaps as someone else
Perhaps as you I'll be worth noticing
Then even a eunuch won't resist
The magic of a kiss from such as me
I'll be that girl -- and you would be right over
If I were a field, you would be in clover
If I were the sun, you would be in shadow
If I had a gun, there'd be no tomorrow
It's time to kick off your shoes,
learn how to choose sadness
It's time to throw off those chains,
addle our brains with madness
'Cause we've got plenty of time
to grow old and die
But when at last your beauty's faded
you'll be glad that I have waited for you
When you're done
with being beautiful and young
When that course is run, then come to me
I'll be that girl -- and you would be right over
If I were a field, you would be in clover
If I were the sun, you would be in shadow
If I had a gun, there'd be no tomorrow
Whereas, breakbeats have been the missing link connecting the diasporic
community to its drum woven past
Whereas the quantised drum has allowed the whirling mathematicians to
calculate the ever changing distance between rock and stardom.
Whereas the velocity of the spinning vinyl, cross-faded, spun backwards, and
re-released at the same given moment of recorded history , yet at a
different moment in time's continuum has allowed history to catch up with
the present.
We do hereby declare reality unkempt by the changing standards of dialogue.
Statements, such as, "keep it real", especially when punctuating or
anticipating modes of ultra-violence inflicted psychologically or physically
or depicting an unchanging rule of events will hence forth be seen as
retro-active and not representative of the individually determined is.
Furthermore, as determined by the collective consciousness of this state of
being and the lessened distance between thought patterns and their secular
manifestations, the role of men as listening receptacles is to be increased
by a number no less than 70 percent of the current enlisted as vocal
aggressors.
Motherf---ers better realize, now is the time to self-actualize
We have found evidence that hip hops standard 85 rpm when increased by a
number as least half the rate of it's standard or decreased at ¾ of it's
speed may be a determining factor in heightening consciousness.
Studies show that when a given norm is changed in the face of the
unchanging, the remaining contradictions will parallel the truth.
Equate rhyme with reason, Sun with season
Our cyclical relationship to phenomenon has encouraged scholars to erase the
centers of periods, thus symbolizing the non-linear character of cause and
effect
Reject mediocrity!
Your current frequencies of understanding outweigh that which as been given
for you to understand.
The current standard is the equivalent of an adolescent restricted to the
diet of an infant.
The rapidly changing body would acquire dysfunctional and deformative
symptoms and could not properly mature on a diet of apple sauce and crushed
pears
Light years are interchangeable with years of living in darkness.
The role of darkness is not to be seen as, or equated with, Ignorance, but
with the unknown, and the mysteries of the unseen.
Thus, in the name of:
ROBESON, GOD'S SON, HURSTON, AHKENATON, HATHSHEPUT, BLACKFOOT, HELEN,
LENNON, KHALO, KALI, THE THREE MARIAS, TARA, LILITHE, LOURDE, WHITMAN,
BALDWIN, GINSBERG, KAUFMAN, LUMUMBA, GHANDI, GIBRAN, SHABAZZ, SIDDHARTHA,
MEDUSA, GUEVARA, GUARDSIEFF, RAND, WRIGHT, BANNEKER, TUBMAN, HAMER, HOLIDAY,
DAVIS, COLTRANE, MORRISON, JOPLIN, DUBOIS, CLARKE, SHAKESPEARE, RACHMNINOV,
ELLINGTON, CARTER, GAYE, HATHOWAY, HENDRIX, KUTL, DICKERSON, RIPPERTON,
MARY, ISIS, THERESA, PLATH, RUMI, FELLINI, MICHAUX, NOSTRADAMUS, NEFERTITI,
LA ROCK, SHIVA, GANESHA, YEMAJA, OSHUN, OBATALA, OGUN, KENNEDY, KING, FOUR
LITTLE GIRLS, HIROSHIMA, NAGASAKI, KELLER, BIKO, PERONE, MARLEY, COSBY,
SHAKUR, THOSE STILL AFLAMED, AND THE COUNTLESS UNNAMED
We claim the present as the pre-sent, as the hereafter.
We are unraveling our navels so that we may ingest the sun.
We are not afraid of the darkness, we trust that the moon shall guide us.
We are determining the future at this very moment.
We now know that the heart is the philosophers' stone
Our music is our alchemy
We stand as the manifested equivalent of 3 buckets of water and a hand full
of minerals, thus realizing that those very buckets turned upside down
supply the percussion factor of forever.
If you must count to keep the beat then count.
Find you mantra and awaken your subconscious.
Curve you circles counterclockwise
Use your cipher to decipher, Coded Language, man made laws.
Climb waterfalls and trees, commune with nature, snakes and bees.
Let your children name themselves and claim themselves as the new day for
today we are determined to be the channelers of these changing frequencies
into songs, paintings, writings, dance, drama, photography, carpentry,
crafts, love, and love.
We enlist every instrument: Acoustic, electronic.
Every so-called race, gender, and sexual preference.
Every person as beings of sound to acknowledge their responsibility to
uplift the consciousness of the entire f---ing World.
Any utterance will be un-aimed, will be disclaimed - two rappers slain