As promised. Vox recorded (very raw though).
Here are the lyrics:
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Blindside
Dried and depleted my senses deprived
By backstabbing bitches with ninety-nine knives
Diagnosed with denial. Was barely alive
Down and unconscious but I somehow survived.
And I wake up from what was my inner comatose
Grabbed my prescribed mic and let out a dose.
And I start to regurgitate poetry and prose
Haunting the scene like a blood hungry ghost.
And like an infection I plague people's mind
Making them scream punchline after punchline
They shake and they shiver as I spit out my rhymes
If music is apocalypse then I'm one of the signs.
But you came along to try to play the dirty tactic
Don't try to waste me when yourself is pathetic
The thought of fame might make you ecstatic
But I'm the one who make my suffering poetic
You're just one of others who has since tried to stop me
Dragging a ball and chain to try to bind me
Forget it punk you can't stop what's meant to be
Cos music is my blood, my soul, my destiny.
CHORUS:
Waiting your chance to
Take what is mine
Cos you want it.
You need it.
You’re searching for something.
Don’t try to fake and take away what I made
Or I’ll give you the blindside
You want it
You need it
Still searching.
YOU’RE NOTHING!!!
A pen so much mightier than the sharpest of swords
My pen is Excalibur. I'm Arthur of words.
And my quest for my grail would take me through different worlds
Send off a herald with the antiflag unfurled.
I write black and white classics like Humphrey Bogart
Splash a bit of violence while I spill out my heart.
You think alot about Eminem? I think of Mozart.
You think you are the next Donald Trump? Well, I'm the wild card
Beats are my aces, shuffling flow in my deck.
No tricks up my sleeves. Just words for my attack.
You bring down a posse to cut you some slack?
Well I'm the lone wolf, son. Don't need no damn pack.
The world is a jungle, yeah, I'm the king of the beasts.
Jackals of war fighting over my feast.
While strays got their wounds, you got yours from my diss
The scar on your face; an imprint of my fist.
I'll put you down, to the ground where you can see
The sands of time drifting over my anarchy.
Forget it, mother fucker, you can't stop what's meant to be
Cos music is my blood, my soul, my destiny.
CHORUS
