I got words by the million, I got Ink by the pound.
The name is Remission, with the Algorythme’s sounds.
They say, Dumb it down, dilute the substance.
Dissolve and drown out the calculated increments.
Spoon feed the masses, regulate the dosage.
The music industry, is held hostage.
Burn the empire, destroy the city.
Light the torch, bridges disappear in the sea.
Writing your story, drawing your portrait.
Produce the soundtrack for a life that's cinematic.
The radio waves are filled with static.
it’s tragic, what happened to all the good music.
All the classics, that raised an entire generation.
All the artists, that we consider an inspiration.
They've all come and gone, vanished and disappeared.
Today so much garbage, is being shoved down our ears.
Its been too many years, that hip hop is dying
Its been too many tears, too much lying.
But with ink by the pound, I’ll be writing down everything.
From the tip of the pen, to the end of the beginning.
The vinyl crackles, the record is spinning,
The needle drops, and the music starts playing.
Drums and lush keys, dust on the melody
An emcee flowing with the rhythm and poetry.
The ink drips, right out of me.
All of this art accumulates over centuries.
Until you’re buried, under your body of work and creativity.
And all your free time is spent, writing words, and living inside on your head.
Too often you heard, her tell you, its time to come to bed.
But you can’t fall asleep, can’t shut-off the mind.
Dreaming that you're making beats and writing rhymes.
So tired, but still scribbling ideas and concepts.
Papers full of notes, making sure you won't forget.
Its getting late, but your still inspired, to write.
Ink drips from the feather tip, throughout the night.
With ink by the pound, we’ll be writing down everything (X 3)
Its the Algorythme, & Remission.
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