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lirik lagu welcome home – rasul

that’s what it sounds like when you’re standing at the pearly gates:
when a man’s whispering a simple phrase like
“i miss home” – though his home’s been a cage
land of the free and asylum for the brave
in an ocean of denial, dog-paddling ‘gainst the waves
drowning in guilt, doubt and sick rage
escapades of a peon, i’m mohammed in the cave (talk to me)
misconstrued, misled, misbehaved
keep running into walls like my name is willie mays
so here i am putting misery to the page
the serenades of a hanging slave
depraved dialogues with the spirit of isaac hayes
telling god i’m on my way tipsy off that e&j
trying to find an ortofon needle in the haystacks
of sly stone 8-tracks on replay
i deejay broken records of lies and clichés
wonder if y’all wanna hear what i really have to say
welcome home

[chorus: hila bronstein]
at the end of the rainbow
in a world of his own
now the angels keep calling
welcome home
demons remain faithful
to the pain that he holds
when the angels keep calling
welcome home

to the rhythms of solitude
the dna of fresh trapped in my molecules
i’m johnny cool rasul ishmael
power rule from the school of hard lucks and troubled moods
ever since looking up through that infamous hollis crew
pete rock, c.l. smooth, live at the bbq, that
i want my 40 acres and a mule
the fuel flushing our veins when kane was dropping jewels
forgotten loops chopped and screwed with proper tools
those sonic grooves that make your stomach move
word-play’s equivalent to rubik’s demonic cube
colourful puzzles for church girls, pimps and college dudes
whoever might understand the struggle too
shelter tomorrow’s youth with clothes and solid food
the pursuit of happiness is the pursuit for ws
who better compare it to than the mavericks’ number 2?
welcome home

cause when a man’s whispers are simply rephrased like
aaron hall used to sing “don’t be afraid”
on a stage i’m mumia trapped in an iron maze
renegade, maniac writing for better days
forever dazed
since you mind sprays a gift of gab and your dad calls it a phase
raised among black pots, white lines and razor blades
where crime pays to pave a peasant’s ways
where seeds of wisdom never blossom with age
what you’ve done, seen, or heard are your company for the grave
and d-mn right the boy has changed
your boy’s germane, dying slowly inside from the joy’s of pain
while you keep mistaken my poise for strange
ask yourself: when will you hear this voice again?
while you keep mistaking this coy for strange ask yourself
when you might hear this voice again – welcome home

welcome home
welcome home
welcome home
welcome home

(i’m here)
(crada)
(out)

- rasul

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