Atmosphere lyrics D. Turner


Henceforth, step within my psychoanalysis
Callouses upon my mind make me strain for my lines
Out I ripped it squeezed the brain, it made some liquid
Drained it in a cup and then I sipped it
Atmosphere, the mic let me clutch it
Thoughts take flight so fit Slug in your pipe and take a puff kid
Fuck it, I heat it like a tea pot, steam hot
Upon the roof shoot a marble with the verbal slingshot
Take aim, here I came, I’m the same
Back in ’86, I’da tag my name upon your window pane
Stained the mind, a deep shade of residue
Voices within the head make choices multiple
Multiply Spawn, Slug a little buzz
And Atmosphere the scuds, cause here comes the judge
Blasted, so pass the kid a mic so we can paint this
Image of the gifted-anxious, to flip the language
It’s the noun meltdown from the outer-shell
Now smell the burning flesh fresh from the hell-bound
And come on down here, this mind path, I’m half-
Mathematic Atmospheric staff with the rhyme craft
Comin’ to capture, your after-laughter
While I’m hanging from this rafter, I have to rip this rapture
Cause the cramps in my stomach, dismantle
When I tamper with your amplifier, you damn-you die

Why try? The sky presents an eternally unfolding spectacle
One moment puffs of cumulus clouds skidder across it
And next a billowing thunderhead
Perhaps ten miles high looms over the horizon
Probing the structure of the sky
Why try?

Cause I can read an emcee from front to back
From the cover to the classified, I’ve pacified
My mind with my rhyme skills, I climb hills
And leap, foolish twitch with a single bound
Sending tingles down your spine, designed to swing a pound
This ax handle tripled, inch spike protruding
From the tip of my mic distributing fuckin’ headshots
Shots to your head, now you’re knee-deep, you need sleep
As you trudge through the sludge and the slugs and the bird shit
We swarm with the bees and diseases
And even if your deejay was Jesus, you could never fuck with these kids
I swarm with the bees and diseases
And even if your deejay was Jesus, you could never fuck with these kids

Yeah motherfucker, you know who you fuckin’ with
You know what kind ass whooping comes with this
You whole crew could get some of this
You whack-as-fuck kids is what the subject is
Roughnecks live, for only a second
Then they give. Oblivion’s what you’ve stepped in
Your reps token, should have been lookin’
I’m sick of you bitch-ass crews when
You tried take what’s not yours but you couldn’t
Take mine, your fake rhymes, spit them you shouldn’t
What will it be now, another victory
Yo who will it be now, it’s Spawn that emcee
Complete, a true champ, stamped that on my essence
Amped shootin’ presence, fattenin’ each fuckin’ sentence
When it’s time, then it’s time to go
That’s what I know, be rippin’ mics at every show we flow
But who’s got my back though?

Stress, Beyond, Ant, the Slug

So you bests be on your way before there’s trouble

Writer(s): D. Turner


Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here