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Mic : Sound Music Bitez
Black Pearl ‘s lyrics
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Mic sounds
Like a fly
Waving to
Bite your ear
Because
Some y’all
need hear
Hot Potato
Times 2
Base line
Alkaline
Ph detects
7.9
( read between
the punch line )
Major hot pursuit
Grass grows through
Concrete
the whole world had seen
the footage the garden
Surface released right out
Up North
From Cepot’s closet
Where shadows are the only thing that reap.
No sun, no sky, a ledger without ink—
Toilet water inmates were forced to drink
The truth is what the jailers never could think.
For sixty grains of sand, the hourglass stuck,
No hand could move to document our luck,
Or monumental loss. A silent screen
Where what has been and what should be, between,
A gap yawns wide. A nation holds its breath,
And records sleep a semblance of a death.
This is the game. The passing of the blame,
A heated thing that carries Nixon’s name became , by a pretended mad king ‘s . He called the Hot potato game.
It’s in the pocket of a tailored suit,
A stain that spreads from buckle to the boot.
I told you once, I ain’t you twice,
They spin the tale and roll the loaded dice.
They never gonna stop, while doors are locked
In fact, as if a warehouse were stocked.
While the whole world shock, the plumbers tape the mic,
And stage the set to make the darkness bright.
And in the silver reservoir, a coil hums,
A digital vein where all the future comes.
The water knows your name, its path a thread
In AI’s ledger, quietly widespread.
The meter’s mind, a cold and calculating god,
Prepare to double up the tab we have to pay .
And sustenance. The main tenants, unaware,
Will find the well is thin and metallic, bare,
All the way down to that unspooling coil—
A privilege now, withdrawn from
Hot potato.
The Great Depression is set to drop.
Everything was right within our hands until
The fool, who swore upon the bible’s sand,
Came in and let the rot command the land?
Fool me once, the shame is on the house.
Fool me twice, we field the frantic mouse
That scuttles where the lions feared to tread.
We’ve landed in our own sleek coffins, fed
On promises. The tempers flare and whisper,
As from a gilded, unforgiving cistern.
And in the yard, the animals begin to march.
( Watergate)
similar as connect four ,
but the media didn’t ask
To lead on the dance floor.
Hot potato was
Passed quickly before it burned.
Watch it fly as every vested interest turns.
I told you once, I ain’t you twice.
They are never gonna stop the spread of vice.
While the whole world is shocked, they play the ancient game.
The Great Depression, peering through the flame,
Is about to drop. The music slows. We see
The final pass was made to you. To me.
We hold it now. This scorching, ticking core.
This truth we cannot document… or ignore.
Hot potato.
Hot potato.
Hot potato
You are it !
