Clean Conscience
Quelle: Spotify
[Verse 1: Trademarc]
I’m an ego, megalomaniac: Lex Luthor
Brainiac, Gorilla Grodd in a fog, legion of doom
Season of gloom, Solomon Grundy meeting King Kong Bundy
Ain’t a single one among me in the room
Wanna' meet the bang of the boom
Click of the clack just as soon luminous shadow
Until the battle really rattle my world
Valley girl rappers get hurled through the pavement
That’s how ECA make a statement
Obliterate your essence and form
Your presence is gone like adolescents buried in porn
Pictures worn and their sentences gone
Like born identities, my enemies warned
Their families mourn like Kennedys
[Verse 2: Esoteric]
You motherfuckers know I bust a flow in psychotropic glow
I smother foes and trample em like a herd of buffalo
The style you just came up with yo I structured like a month ago
My hand is running all the pile driver’s, Mister Wonderful
I’m indestructible, the bodies hanging in my bungalow
My iron claw is like the one that reccomends and tears at
You’re generic like the CVS brand
And you wonder why people leave your show to go and see the next band
We do this all independently, we got a clean conscience
That’s a good sign of a bad memory
Law-born war babies whose well-being depends on factors
Of head-strong actors and defence contractors
Pay cuts, taxes, shake up axis, wake up, facts is this
Channel 7 shake up my mother’s nest sending her threats
Dudes watch MTV, buy shit with rubber cheques
Pure girls get their allure and grace took
By well-paid rebels, Myspace and Facebook
Soldiers put their life on the line, we put our life in these lines
Throw up the peace sign
[Hook]
I ain’t never gonna' be what you want me to be
Never gonna' see what you want me to see
I’m close to the murder sprees
Courtesy of neo-con burglary
Cause we all wanna' be burden-free
You can be what I want you to be
If you can see what I want you to see
And that’s a 3D speeding bullet
I’ll pull it and put it in place so we can finally meet face-to-face
[Verse 3: Esoteric]
I can no longer write well, I got a tight well
My penmanship is gone but the sentences are strong
And you know I never write a song
This be all stream of consciousness
Take one and it’s on
Take two and three if it’s wrong
Possibilities are endless when you do it penless
You can reinvigorate but the sickest hate holds you back
Like eyelids of eyeballs watching tickertape
The art of yore manipulates your ear (what)
The visual manipulates your fear (no)
You oughta sell another Red Sox makes you cheer (yes)
So you don’t have to think about the people that are stationed (where?)
[Verse 4: Trademarc]
I can never really go home
I’m prone to fits of rage that ain't fit for a man of my age
My stature is that of a man wrapped up in his mind strapped up to the nines
The gates of rapture open, when I’m having trouble coping
I’ll capture your frame in a scope and then your silhouette goes
From fluid motion to frozen, like you’re posing for a centerfold
But your whole centerfold’s looking more
Like you’re dozing in and out of REM sleep
That’s why the feds keep me on a blacklist, the fact is
I’m down for a revolution, violent
Never taking captives, looking for a resolution
Lower-class looking for a restitution
No one asked where our votes went in 2000
Lost or hidden like the overcoat I keep my two pounds in
I creep where you sleep, lounging collect the bounty
From the crowds in the street while your body’s laying at their feet
And your body heat seeps from your clothing
The fear and loathing of America is slowly buried with ya'
With every image of ya' lying at a press conference
I’ll leave you lying in your best-pressed suit unconscious
Finally with a clean conscience
[Hook]
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