Dig where I give my Vertigo mind
Here's where I was born and here's where I died
A life on a line, time on a space
Defined by the case and enshrined to the ages
The arc spins out to the edge where the bark ends
Sap in the cracks is advanced through the target
Tapped is a cross-cut trunk ticking years off of
Rings in the rough... Nine-teen eighty-one
Young buck, I was given to the music that my family
Tree dropped: lean vinyl leaves, lopped clean, caught
Neatly in a simple white sleeve and received in a
Triple-seamed piece of relief. I'm released
Now I leaf through the timelines, ripe in the limelight
Lean through long limbs, hyped on the High Life
Primed for the prime time, charmed bonsai, been
Making up for training the roots in a vinyl lining
Dig what I'm into. Get into the lens when my pen pushes limits to the ends
Can do attitude spinning like black planets do, cutting wax with the groove
Lend me your ears. These hemispheres take latitudes then flatten into plates
Needle on the cue of the song: make it fall
When you ask of the Magic Eight Ball, I break y'all off
Get the gist of my language
My fangs tap sap sanguine, black amber splash, a draught dangerous
My mark is upon Sycamore roots, last of the tribe like Fenimore Coop
Building a plan for the loops like grouping the Jupiter rings through a lens in a loupe
Redwood routes go in to out. And when the LP spins it goes out to in
So with the wax rewound, the sound bends the rounds and curves space to trace it where it all began
See, the first track rides the longest black lap but the last runs half as long at just as fast
'Til it yields to the pops and the cracks and the lock-groove grasps at the circuit at last
Dig what I'm into. Get into the lens when my pen pushes limits to the ends
Can do attitude spinning like black planets do, cutting wax with the groove
Lend me your ears. These hemispheres take latitudes then flatten into plates
Needle on the cue of the song: make it fall
When you ask of the Magic Eight Ball, I break y'all off
(B.R. makes 'em get up on the wax like
Big Rig makes 'em get up on the wax like
Bedroom makes 'em up on the wax like
Bankrupt makes 'em get up on the wax like)
Initials B.R. - Magic Eight Ball (Rap Wax) Lyrics
Initials B.R. - Magic Eight Ball (Rap Wax) Lyrics
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Dig where I give my Vertigo mind
Here's where I was born and here's where I died
A life on a line, time on a space
Defined by the case and enshrined to the ages
The arc spins out to the edge where the bark ends
Sap in the cracks is advanced through the target
Tapped is a cross-cut trunk ticking years off of
Rings in the rough... Nine-teen eighty-one
Young buck, I was given to the music that my family
Tree dropped: lean vinyl leaves, lopped clean, caught
Neatly in a simple white sleeve and received in a
Triple-seamed piece of relief. I'm released
Now I leaf through the timelines, ripe in the limelight
Lean through long limbs, hyped on the High Life
Primed for the prime time, charmed bonsai, been
Making up for training the roots in a vinyl lining
Dig what I'm into. Get into the lens when my pen pushes limits to the ends
Can do attitude spinning like black planets do, cutting wax with the groove
Lend me your ears. These hemispheres take latitudes then flatten into plates
Needle on the cue of the song: make it fall
When you ask of the Magic Eight Ball, I break y'all off
Get the gist of my language
My fangs tap sap sanguine, black amber splash, a draught dangerous
My mark is upon Sycamore roots, last of the tribe like Fenimore Coop
Building a plan for the loops like grouping the Jupiter rings through a lens in a loupe
Redwood routes go in to out. And when the LP spins it goes out to in
So with the wax rewound, the sound bends the rounds and curves space to trace it where it all began
See, the first track rides the longest black lap but the last runs half as long at just as fast
'Til it yields to the pops and the cracks and the lock-groove grasps at the circuit at last
Dig what I'm into. Get into the lens when my pen pushes limits to the ends
Can do attitude spinning like black planets do, cutting wax with the groove
Lend me your ears. These hemispheres take latitudes then flatten into plates
Needle on the cue of the song: make it fall
When you ask of the Magic Eight Ball, I break y'all off
(B.R. makes 'em get up on the wax like
Big Rig makes 'em get up on the wax like
Bedroom makes 'em up on the wax like
Bankrupt makes 'em get up on the wax like)
Here's where I was born and here's where I died
A life on a line, time on a space
Defined by the case and enshrined to the ages
The arc spins out to the edge where the bark ends
Sap in the cracks is advanced through the target
Tapped is a cross-cut trunk ticking years off of
Rings in the rough... Nine-teen eighty-one
Young buck, I was given to the music that my family
Tree dropped: lean vinyl leaves, lopped clean, caught
Neatly in a simple white sleeve and received in a
Triple-seamed piece of relief. I'm released
Now I leaf through the timelines, ripe in the limelight
Lean through long limbs, hyped on the High Life
Primed for the prime time, charmed bonsai, been
Making up for training the roots in a vinyl lining
Dig what I'm into. Get into the lens when my pen pushes limits to the ends
Can do attitude spinning like black planets do, cutting wax with the groove
Lend me your ears. These hemispheres take latitudes then flatten into plates
Needle on the cue of the song: make it fall
When you ask of the Magic Eight Ball, I break y'all off
Get the gist of my language
My fangs tap sap sanguine, black amber splash, a draught dangerous
My mark is upon Sycamore roots, last of the tribe like Fenimore Coop
Building a plan for the loops like grouping the Jupiter rings through a lens in a loupe
Redwood routes go in to out. And when the LP spins it goes out to in
So with the wax rewound, the sound bends the rounds and curves space to trace it where it all began
See, the first track rides the longest black lap but the last runs half as long at just as fast
'Til it yields to the pops and the cracks and the lock-groove grasps at the circuit at last
Dig what I'm into. Get into the lens when my pen pushes limits to the ends
Can do attitude spinning like black planets do, cutting wax with the groove
Lend me your ears. These hemispheres take latitudes then flatten into plates
Needle on the cue of the song: make it fall
When you ask of the Magic Eight Ball, I break y'all off
(B.R. makes 'em get up on the wax like
Big Rig makes 'em get up on the wax like
Bedroom makes 'em up on the wax like
Bankrupt makes 'em get up on the wax like)
Writer: Luke Kirkland
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid