Hillside Nomads

Here I go, sonic boom, guess that this means thunder strucked
choppin, up and cuttin down, you better bring a lumber truck
Open up the fuckin trunk, outnumbered it sums it up
but I'm never outgunned, coming with that double shot

you - figured me out, cause of my clothes and of my long hair
OH! -little bit of doubt, minimal of clout, I invoke fear
No! - typical and loud, get em while they down, when the smoke clears
nomads always land on their feet, you better hold hands

we take it back to the basics, so fuck the habits of changing
these major factory's apeshit, and on their path to just failing
wearing a mask when portraying, yo and they practically faceless
and these bastards tenacious, and yo they lacking the patience

for what it takes
to be
one of the greats
to me
raising the stakes
to see
the greater shapes of things!

so I'm
working in silence while I kill time
on the grass knoll, sniper on the hillside

chorus:
-don't wanna be a chip in a program
collect all their shit then we throw it back
pat ourselves on the back when we're old, man!
no format, hillside nomads

flame spitter, shape shifter, ashy breath and cracked lips
I'm bending over backwards so hard that I'm doing back flips
their flag ship, disaster, it'll float with some passion
what you got, never lasting? honest!? yeah you got jack shit!

take your highway, this is still my own path
explore this desolate wicked bitch on horseback
bricks in the wall, yeah delete the program
i'm always going up, like a Hillside Nomad

I'm sick of the dumbing down, kids they seem dumber now
it's funny how, the common noun, relates us to these mumble clowns
always run their mouths, never praise the underground
you'll learn the hard way that what comes around, it comes around

and skill is everlasting
the student need to stand up to the master, surpass him
to tell you the truth, I never thought that could happen
but here I am smashing, decapitating bastards

chorus:
-don't wanna be a chip in a program
collect all their shit then we throw it back
pat ourselves on the back when we're old, man!
no format, hillside nomads