Roots Manuva

Alright, okay
I arise in the morntime and cut through fresh books
Put them old Bruck trainers on my foot
For I am the picky mystic, I max the most
Drinking ginseng tea, eating huddle bread toast
While my skeet nags, jacks up my coat
She don't like the smell of my smoke
She says my eyes dem is red
And I need to go and fix up my head
Honey, my head is fixed
I'm getting deep with my purpose
Synchronizing to the mystics of cosmic energy
My specialty be to write buff raps
Weakhearts, they hate me like my name was poll tax
I don't part for none, I be the Godsend, God gifted
I work nuff shifts turning a penny to a pound
>From a pound to jacks, from a jacks to a score
My brainwaves is twisted, my tactics is raw
Cause I
[Chorus 2x]
Grip my teal boom as hard as I can
So I can find me a path through the sinking sands
[Sober Now]
Shit's hit the fan but I'm not the fan the shit's hit
It's the man with the bad arse bitch in town
Put her into the circles but she tore them down
And I frown, but in my heart I know it's all good
So I stick around like a true friend should
And they say that some things in life can't be really mended
But only time will tell how well you and your spark prevail
Try not to implore to the stereotype factors
That they brand us with cause there's enough love to give
Oh, Lord! What's happening to me?