Polyphonic - Mind-cell [Cover]
Satt och lyssnade på Ghetto med Obie trice och Trey songz.. Va på skrivhumör och skrev en egen text till låten.. here it goes:
Whoooo
Mind-cell, mind-cell, mind-cell
Im sitting all alone with my guns at home.
Turn the mind on and the thoughts will come.
Self righteous torture until you're numb.
In your mind-cell
Mind-cell
Im born from my mother own mistakes.
From my father and his face.
Will continue to stop, to be free from their disgrace.
Brothers abused and mine sister been used for what?
For a whole family turned inside out to get fucked?
When your ten year son smokes weed in blunts.
BANG, CHUCK.... turning leapin' stunts.
Dodging bitchslaps while sucking on your own mishaps.
One wish, one miss and everything ends in a dispatch.
Im sitting all alone with my guns at home.
Turn the mind on and the thoughts will come.
Self righteous torture until you're numb.
In your mind-cell
Mind-cell
I got no food to eat, no mood for treats
Your little baby son, is gonna be raised on the street
Scum of the earth even got them selves more chances.
But for a hard working man its small classes, no balance.
Cry your heart out and the bottle is the one with ears
Soaked, drunk and No time to even bother your fears.
Coz statics and tactics of a curve driving down your buisness.
And your wifes last kiss before she died from her sickness.
The expression "I got the world on my shoulders",
is what some experience, and some see in folders.
Why could'nt we live in the fastlane statement?
Fuck this shit man, i dont need face plants in basements.
Im sitting all alone with my guns at home.
Turn the mind on and the thoughts will come.
Self righteous torture until you're numb.
In your mind-cell
Mind-cell
Im trapped in a mind-cell and its feeling like hell.
But Im adapting for surviving the right way.
Might stay to see beyond powerty and the last d.u.i.
They rather see you die then make you feel alive.
Your mum cries, craving answers from jesus christ.
But a shed tear cant erase you from the list of tries.
We got nothing to hold on like paralyzed fighters.
Someone please call 911 like the song of blige and wycleff.
Sum summarize, your life is like a refined shell.
Fired and useless, and again trapped in you mind-cell.
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