the status quo, BREATHE SLOW/ You got more cons than pros, BREATHE SLOW/ You got fisticuffs to throw, BREATHE SLOW/ Ayo, your boss told you no, BREATHE SLOW/ Say Mars ILL
(Verse #1, Pigeon John) I live on the road, a modern day hobo/ Trained to eat quick and expect the low blow/ Get what you can from a dried up hole/ In
is better than it sounds/ This is everything it took to separate me from the ground/ This is levitation 101. We tread upon the clouds/ And make a name for Mars ILL
(Verse #1) I live the high life with lowlifes who want life to go/ Down the middle of the marketplace where souls are bought and sold/ In Rap Olympics
(Verse #1) If the eyes are the windows of the soul, then the mouth is the door/ Where the pieces exit freely way beyond your control/ And they?re not
(Verse #1) Building in a cell block, shocked at the mystery/ Unlocked the misery kept inside his body?s chemistry/ And when he?s by himself, he has to
point at them and wave your fist/ Media?s agenda becomes the mark on your head and plus your wrist/ This is just in case you doubted that Mars ILL was
(Verse #1) I left my footprints on the ocean?s waves before the storm came/ But form changed to man overboard sinking self-aware/ Thinking no one?s there
(Verse #1) It?s a common theme. The world is monotone and mean/ It?s grown into a full-blown bag of bones that holds reserves of self-esteem/ And it?s
the market that's as black as their heart [Playdough] Inside the ventricles, I flip it around to make receptacles And fill with Mars ILL Harmonic is
[Verse 1:] It's there and it's here, it's far and it's near All my hopes and all my fears are manifested in the sphere It's distorted but it's clear,
points hit home Roam from here to Italy Such a deep impact on hip-hop you'd think maybe a comet was hitting me Spitting ill soliloquies in a symphony
[Verse 1] I rock spots with top-notch communication On time like a stopwatch while others keep me waiting Pop lock to a beat box while taking potshots
Yeah, we got something else to say, believe it or not/ We don?t claim to represent each element of hip-hop/ I?m eloquent on the mic, flip language, that
[Verse 1: manCHILD] I vent my anger on you strangers that I've never even met As I employ endangered medium of recordable cassettes To audibly connect
(Verse #1) Honey, I?m home! Where?s my dinner? And this place is a mess And less than adequate, marked with laziness and soap-opera watching Clean it
[Verse 1:] I think, therefore I am fresh, stand next to the next man And can bless fans, decks and mics Come correct like I was right, but when I write
hard fans smile For that drop-you-where-you-stand style, soul heir the manCHILD I AM stands miles above the current lifestyle that you've chosen Sounds ill
