AUDIOPRO

(UsVsThem)
Eyes adjustin to the sun,
Hard to see
Drank my whisky now its on the coffee
Can’t let the daily grind me up
Into broken pieces zoned out like a zombie
Trying to make something from nothing
A disease, an obsession, a fight, and a struggle
How my lip get busted
Life is hard, and its knuckles are dusted
But I strike with a box cutter type
C4 switchblade pipe bomb dynomite
Final fight, and the fight gets dirty
How do I plead to homicide, lyrics and fury
Lights low like a say once
Try to find a pattern in the chaos
Things are moving but I stay calm
Find an eye in the storm against all odds

And you can try to play god, sometimes it gets colder than a graveyard
You get burned you get scarred, you give up, you swing hard
And you can try to play god, sometimes it gets colder than a graveyard
But than you find a shelter and a few more pieces put the puzzle together

(Just)
And he’s known to the town as a starving artist
Posted on the corner where he works his hardest
Surviving on the tips that we put in his box
Steady on the path, most consider to be lost
Covered in ink, conspiracy nut to make you stop and think
About alien abductions, builderberg functions,
lost inside a rabbit hole of digital destruction
Hes an analog guy, likes to move slow
Likes to get high
Work with his hands whenever he can, and have great conversations with those who understand him
But the sad part is, to most he’s a ghost where the black crows live
Goes against the grain
Got your brain, up in a vice grip
Few complain about the novacaine, pumping the pain to keep your mind numb
Fluoride dumped inside the water that you drink from
Blast the news and catch blues
Wonder why wifey’s got a bad attitude
But he still likes to smile
Hitchhike a ride to go the extra mile,
Performing at a packed show, in addition to an artist he’s an audio pro

(Skope)
Back to the streets to make ends meet,
If all goes well he’ll eat this weak,
Got a box of tapes, a box of cd’s and a hard drives full of mp3’s
Pockets packed with the trees
He’s on his way, back to the breeze
Necessities, he sells recipes
and has purpose in every breath he breaths
His flesh, it bleeds and if disease takes whats left he’ll still believe
In the path he took on foot just gravel
No judge or jury or gavel
Badly wounded full of shrapnel
Barely got one wheel on its axel
But he’s got a meal on, and that ill
Cause its cold in the graveyard and that’s real

(Just)
And you can try to play god, sometimes it gets colder than a graveyard
You get burned you get scarred, you give up, you swing hard
And you can try to play god, sometimes it gets colder than a graveyard
But than you find a shelter and a few more pieces put the puzzle together