Tide Of Life - CYNE

It’s the ichiban player sneakin' up on the avenue

So ante up—we jumpin' snakes eyes, ‘bout to battle you

Hold your hands up.

Heard you back from sabbatical

A player so smooth.

Gimme room while I challenge you

Cise Star never in the day—only evenings

Transparent, dark, move units while you sleeping

Be the overachiever, the human heat-seeker

The tactile style is wild, giving you seizures

Slow motherfuckers, these skilled packs of readers

You’re suing me, but sorry as hell—you're just Zima

Gangsta lean, holding my dreams, hope receiver

So what you mean?

Better redeem or be believer

Crush grooves on soft planets, making it so hard

From Pacific to Atlantic, dammit, we gon' ball

Like sandcastles for rent, bitch, you gon' fall

With the tide, with the tide, with the tide

Huh, tide of life

Automatic static, I’m flowing throughout your phone lines

Connecting the internet, the dialect is so fine

Forever elevators are taking me so high

Inhale and sigh, after reason that I’m so fly

Quick, connect the FireWire—I won’t lie

Gotta write, love to Hell just to get by

Poetic—instead it’s kinetic ‘til I touch minds

Blind, looking for answers until I let my ears find

A certain resonance with the presence of elegant

African elephants roaming the soundscape effortless

Spreading the wisdom that bangs your sound system

Airwaves behave—radiohead jurisdiction

Crush grooves on soft planets, making it so hard

From Pacific to Atlantic, dammit, we gon' ball

Like sandcastles for rent, bitch, you gon' fall

With the tide, with the tide, with the tide

Huh, tide of life

Smoothin' in action, but burning in the afternoon

We keep the mood subtle and bubble—audible follow through

Methodical, the speeds we reaching until we capture you

Grip tighter than death, we sweat at higher altitudes

We never lose to those that don’t get it

Hyper future, speak implanted, and chromed-out sinners livin'

I fear the menace, son.

I talk to dons

My cellphone got a alter-call, it be the, it be the

African mean, fly like a pelican bee

It’s do or die—bare the nine.

Now who want it with he?

The wild African, back with the pen to the pad again

So that’s a wrap for y’all, the phony rap actors

In this game called music—some do abuse it

I reach for utopia—found.

Now I’m losing

No jazz tunes, rap goon—word is my weapon

I’m Kane in his prime, rhymin'.

You half-steppin'

So half-assed, you get gas—them crackers made you

I came from the ground up to brawl—they paid you, fucker

You ain’t never gonna last in this

That’s the every-Chingy-type rapper, posing his bitch

We shitting on y’all.

Why spawn the lyrics or brawl

Knock the wind, not the lame—play Steven Seagal

I’m jackin' your chan.

KO, flow with the wind

My nigga Cise got the Water for Mars and we begin.

Go!