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lirik lagu second hand’s tick – 137 (us)

ticky ticky tock goes the clock
walk fast like a hawk flies fast
see the second hand pass;
do you really not see?
father fate is truly crass, yeah
he’s the kind of brother that’ll interrupt mass

i’m 5’10” but i got good posture;
i was bred a hunter, not a vulture;
i use all my ken for the culture
for what’s another river ‘thout the moisture

i must say i’m:
rigid like i’m young modulus
i, shoot i don’t miss
i, see target’s fate
i, know beast to sate
i, see it’s hard for a lot of brothers to relate
not going for the check, going for the mate

only so long, you can be a sunflower
then you gotta bear fruit, or cowеr, it’s true;
only so long, you ensconce in thе tower
then you gotta cast your locks down in the mire

short life of movement
is sweeter
than long life
of stagnancy
so i will keep moving
even if nigh drowning within the sea
ticky ticky tock goes the clock
walk fast like a hawk flies fast
see the second hand pass;
do you really not see?
father fate is truly crass, yeah
he’s the kind of brother that’ll interrupt mass

i’m 5’10” but i got good posture;
i was bred a hunter, not a vulture;
i use all my ken for the culture
for what’s another river ‘thout the moisture

oftentimes i find it hard to mop my own kitchen
’cause when i look into the glass i don’t see my reflection
i see another brother with encumbrance on his back
like i’m wading in the murky waters awaiting a shark attack

i could sell ice to an eskimo
making humid raps dripping with the flow
flying with the crow
on my shoulder;
i’m a climber
life’s a boulder;
i’m a suitcase
you’re a folder
i’m a dirigible—
individual so likely to rise
’cause he’s seminal—
it’s almost criminal
crafting the rhymes that i do
whilst being so far from ephemeral;
i go straight on red
’cause through i keep my head
i rather wash up dead
than write my runes abed;
i’ll pick he every single time over lead
and watch where my feet in the snake pit tread

ticky ticky tock goes the clock
walk fast like a hawk flies fast
see the second hand pass;
do you really not see?
father fate is truly crass, yeah
he’s the kind of brother that’ll interrupt mass

i pick up my pen
so words can get dancing;
i am the poacher
you keep on prancing;
give you the maxim
but i guarantee i’m still advancing;
many a maxim
making, even though the pen is taxing
i, must—my ken—relay;
cry, ’cause life’s whip does flay;
why, have i chosen this rough way?
’cause i get my fix from the truth i say

- 137 us

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