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lirik lagu 10 am in guelph – ully

take a deep breath
too eager to jump in trenches with these vets
i’m entrenched in these sets of beats
bet it’s just a reflex
for me to spit till i have no t–th left
freeze jet streams of thought with these pens
skate on the track like crosby
bobby with the defence
or, i could hit you like johny with a sweet left
hendrix, smashing axes for the weekend
enough of these wicked games, i don’t pretend
enough of these lost boys, time to be men
mental exercise, lyrical like jay said
lightbulbs put a crack in my brain like a basehead
a rush of blood to the head made my face red
this ghost is too cold to play
i should have stayed dead
but i came out of the grave with some smooth attire
shooting fire from my soul
no matter who you admire
i still bring goods to the store like a food supplier
still breathe easy under pressure like a scuba diver
who can fire a dude
using higher knowledge to move empires
who implores herds to explore further
and look skyward
and forward with actions
let alone his p-ssion
trying to grab a hold of this reality
before it’s p-ssin’
him by like pharcyde
he walks by and laughs when
guys try to act tough
with the att-tudes of has-beens
they attempt to match sk!ll
with stances that are -ssish
burn the style to ashes and rebuild fast
if you want to get it in, gotta aim at the basket
move fast like c-ssius and strike like matches
sometimes some time p-sses before we know exactly
what this is really all about
thought the game had me
but like a track meet i hurdled over obstacles
they couldn’t trap me
broke out like acne
and became the main athlete
really it’s all athletic with these vocal kinetics
really it’s all mimetic so i can’t forget my ethics
code, so i pay homage to the dope gods
eminem for showing how a white dude can go hard
jay for pushing the ball forward with no guards
ye for taking a different stance and still go yard
mos and black for owning the math with raps so smart
shad for showing me to do it local, no postcard
some dudes try and bite a style they can own
the only style i own is the style of my own
and their ego is inflated but the air can’t hold
and i didn’t get their message, was in airplane mode
didn’t get the text, i neglected the phone
the past is just the present with a sepia tone
i get the itch when i st-tch time together
don’t wanna feel a tick
when i spit these lines i get chills
does that mean i’m sick?
i sit here wondering if something i wrote
is just something i quote
from the infinite
not taking away from my penmanship
just addding to the freshest list
of sentences to bless the skin
of this lifetime
these lifelines drew breath for him
the heretic meddling kid
whose message is the best again
finds himself in the trenches with the vets again
gentlemen…

- ully

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