[{"id":8438370,"name":"Situated","trackName":"Situated","artistName":"Brother Ali","albumName":"Secrets & Escapes","duration":277.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Alright, okay\nLet's get it situated\nI spit directly from the people that originated\nAll of that shit you faking\nThink that imitation is amazing\nYou need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\nI've been initiated,\nStrictly by invitation\nTo the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\nRevealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\nHe feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\nI'm not shining, I'm growing\nEvery rhyme is a poem\nYou been already knowing,\nI been trying to told 'em\nStill grinding and groping, still prying it open\nStill divinely controlled and I honour the moment\nBeen around the globe and always finding pieces of me\nReason to breath as deep as the sea\nPay the ticket price and speak it for free\nLay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\nI arrive clear, no dye here\nBut the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\nUh, the dust I carry on me\nIs just a ceremony\nBecause it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\nYou witness the glory, the gifted oratory\nThat I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\nThey thought the floor could hold me\nThey thought the sky confined me\nThey thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\nThey thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\nAnything outside of space and time cannot be timely\nAllow me, glad tidings to the strangers\nAin't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\nThat are happy being nameless\nAnd absent from your papers\nAnd could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\nHatred can't degrade them\nPraise could never raise 'em\nTheir glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\nAnd that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\nThe manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\nThis is by love, to love, through love, true love\nTurn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\nI'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\nNosebleed, meth amphetamine\nProtein, USDA grade, totally lean\nIf you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\nPromethazine fiend\nWatch women in lululemon\nFemale geneticist, I study girls in jeans\nViolent with the double-entendres\nThe weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\nThen cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\nRegurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\nSociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\nAnd then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\nSick shit, with a torn meniscus\nDikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\nShrimp with a pimp\nIn Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\nI'm proud, young gifted\nSomewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\nI'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\nShit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\nDrinking Tanqueray with gators on\nPlaying Spades with Issa Rae\nBlack Jew screaming on New York avenues\nI'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\nFast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\nIn fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\nOn a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\nThe fuck's blacker than that?\nCame out the womb on Halloween\nWith an affinity for thirteen and black cats\nDoes it get any clearer?\nWalk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\nStaring into what I am\nSpace-time continuum\nAt the minimum, math and helium gases slash","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Situated\n  artist: Brother Ali\n  album: Secrets & Escapes\n  duration_ms: 277000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Alright, okay\n  Let's get it situated\n  I spit directly from the people that originated\n  All of that shit you faking\n  Think that imitation is amazing\n  You need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\n  I've been initiated,\n  Strictly by invitation\n  To the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\n  Revealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\n  He feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\n  I'm not shining, I'm growing\n  Every rhyme is a poem\n  You been already knowing,\n  I been trying to told 'em\n  Still grinding and groping, still prying it open\n  Still divinely controlled and I honour the moment\n  Been around the globe and always finding pieces of me\n  Reason to breath as deep as the sea\n  Pay the ticket price and speak it for free\n  Lay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\n  I arrive clear, no dye here\n  But the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\n  Uh, the dust I carry on me\n  Is just a ceremony\n  Because it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\n  You witness the glory, the gifted oratory\n  That I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\n  They thought the floor could hold me\n  They thought the sky confined me\n  They thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\n  They thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\n  Anything outside of space and time cannot be timely\n  Allow me, glad tidings to the strangers\n  Ain't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\n  That are happy being nameless\n  And absent from your papers\n  And could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\n  Hatred can't degrade them\n  Praise could never raise 'em\n  Their glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\n  And that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\n  The manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\n  This is by love, to love, through love, true love\n  Turn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\n  I'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\n  Nosebleed, meth amphetamine\n  Protein, USDA grade, totally lean\n  If you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\n  Promethazine fiend\n  Watch women in lululemon\n  Female geneticist, I study girls in jeans\n  Violent with the double-entendres\n  The weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\n  Then cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\n  Regurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\n  Sociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\n  And then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\n  Sick shit, with a torn meniscus\n  Dikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\n  Shrimp with a pimp\n  In Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\n  I'm proud, young gifted\n  Somewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\n  I'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\n  Shit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\n  Drinking Tanqueray with gators on\n  Playing Spades with Issa Rae\n  Black Jew screaming on New York avenues\n  I'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\n  Fast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\n  In fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\n  On a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\n  The fuck's blacker than that?\n  Came out the womb on Halloween\n  With an affinity for thirteen and black cats\n  Does it get any clearer?\n  Walk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\n  Staring into what I am\n  Space-time continuum\n  At the minimum, math and helium gases slash\n"},{"id":39977290,"name":"Situated","trackName":"Situated","artistName":"Brother Ali Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Secrets & Escapes","duration":277.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Alright, okay\nLet's get it situated\nI spit directly from the people that originated\nAll of that shit you faking\nThink that imitation is amazing\nYou need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\nI've been initiated,\nStrictly by invitation\nTo the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\nRevealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\nHe feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\nI'm not shining, I'm growing\nEvery rhyme is a poem\nYou been already knowing,\nI been trying to told 'em\nStill grinding and groping, still prying it open\nStill divinely controlled and I honour the moment\nBeen around the globe and always finding pieces of me\nReason to breath as deep as the sea\nPay the ticket price and speak it for free\nLay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\nI arrive clear, no dye here\nBut the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\nUh, the dust I carry on me\nIs just a ceremony\nBecause it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\nYou witness the glory, the gifted oratory\nThat I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\nThey thought the floor could hold me\nThey thought the sky confined me\nThey thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\nThey thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\nAnything outside of space and time cannot be timely\nAllow me, glad tidings to the strangers\nAin't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\nThat are happy being nameless\nAnd absent from your papers\nAnd could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\nHatred can't degrade them\nPraise could never raise 'em\nTheir glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\nAnd that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\nThe manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\nThis is by love, to love, through love, true love\nTurn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\nI'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\nNosebleed, meth amphetamine\nProtein, USDA grade, totally lean\nIf you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\nPromethazine fiend\nWatch women in lululemon\nFemale geneticist, I study girls in jeans\nViolent with the double-entendres\nThe weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\nThen cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\nRegurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\nSociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\nAnd then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\nSick shit, with a torn meniscus\nDikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\nShrimp with a pimp\nIn Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\nI'm proud, young gifted\nSomewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\nI'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\nShit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\nDrinking Tanqueray with gators on\nPlaying Spades with Issa Rae\nBlack Jew screaming on New York avenues\nI'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\nFast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\nIn fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\nOn a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\nThe fuck's blacker than that?\nCame out the womb on Halloween\nWith an affinity for thirteen and black cats\nDoes it get any clearer?\nWalk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\nStaring into what I am\nSpace-time continuum\nAt the minimum, math and helium gases slash","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Situated\n  artist: Brother Ali Pharoahe Monch\n  album: Secrets & Escapes\n  duration_ms: 277000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Alright, okay\n  Let's get it situated\n  I spit directly from the people that originated\n  All of that shit you faking\n  Think that imitation is amazing\n  You need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\n  I've been initiated,\n  Strictly by invitation\n  To the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\n  Revealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\n  He feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\n  I'm not shining, I'm growing\n  Every rhyme is a poem\n  You been already knowing,\n  I been trying to told 'em\n  Still grinding and groping, still prying it open\n  Still divinely controlled and I honour the moment\n  Been around the globe and always finding pieces of me\n  Reason to breath as deep as the sea\n  Pay the ticket price and speak it for free\n  Lay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\n  I arrive clear, no dye here\n  But the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\n  Uh, the dust I carry on me\n  Is just a ceremony\n  Because it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\n  You witness the glory, the gifted oratory\n  That I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\n  They thought the floor could hold me\n  They thought the sky confined me\n  They thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\n  They thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\n  Anything outside of space and time cannot be timely\n  Allow me, glad tidings to the strangers\n  Ain't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\n  That are happy being nameless\n  And absent from your papers\n  And could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\n  Hatred can't degrade them\n  Praise could never raise 'em\n  Their glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\n  And that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\n  The manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\n  This is by love, to love, through love, true love\n  Turn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\n  I'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\n  Nosebleed, meth amphetamine\n  Protein, USDA grade, totally lean\n  If you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\n  Promethazine fiend\n  Watch women in lululemon\n  Female geneticist, I study girls in jeans\n  Violent with the double-entendres\n  The weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\n  Then cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\n  Regurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\n  Sociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\n  And then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\n  Sick shit, with a torn meniscus\n  Dikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\n  Shrimp with a pimp\n  In Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\n  I'm proud, young gifted\n  Somewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\n  I'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\n  Shit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\n  Drinking Tanqueray with gators on\n  Playing Spades with Issa Rae\n  Black Jew screaming on New York avenues\n  I'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\n  Fast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\n  In fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\n  On a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\n  The fuck's blacker than that?\n  Came out the womb on Halloween\n  With an affinity for thirteen and black cats\n  Does it get any clearer?\n  Walk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\n  Staring into what I am\n  Space-time continuum\n  At the minimum, math and helium gases slash\n"},{"id":2297036,"name":"Situated","trackName":"Situated","artistName":"Brother Ali feat. Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Secrets & Escapes","duration":277.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Alright, okay\nLet's get it situated\nI spit directly from the people that originated\nAll of that shit you faking\nThink that imitation is amazing\nYou need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\nI've been initiated,\nStrictly by invitation\nTo the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\nRevealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\nHe feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\nI'm not shining, I'm growing\nEvery rhyme is a poem\nYou been already knowing,\nI been trying to told 'em\nStill grinding and groping, still prying it open\nStill divinely controlled and I honour the moment\nBeen around the globe and always finding pieces of me\nReason to breath as deep as the sea\nPay the ticket price and speak it for free\nLay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\nI arrive clear, no dye here\nBut the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\nUh, the dust I carry on me\nIs just a ceremony\nBecause it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\nYou witness the glory, the gifted oratory\nThat I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\nThey thought the floor could hold me\nThey thought the sky confined me\nThey thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\nThey thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\nAnything outside of space and time cannot be timely\nAllow me, glad tidings to the strangers\nAin't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\nThat are happy being nameless\nAnd absent from your papers\nAnd could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\nHatred can't degrade them\nPraise could never raise 'em\nTheir glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\nAnd that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\nThe manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\nThis is by love, to love, through love, true love\nTurn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\nI'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\nNosebleed, meth amphetamine\nProtein, USDA grade, totally lean\nIf you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\nPromethazine fiend\nWatch women in lululemon\nFemale geneticist, I study girls in jeans\nViolent with the double-entendres\nThe weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\nThen cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\nRegurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\nSociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\nAnd then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\nSick shit, with a torn meniscus\nDikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\nShrimp with a pimp\nIn Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\nI'm proud, young gifted\nSomewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\nI'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\nShit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\nDrinking Tanqueray with gators on\nPlaying Spades with Issa Rae\nBlack Jew screaming on New York avenues\nI'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\nFast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\nIn fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\nOn a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\nThe fuck's blacker than that?\nCame out the womb on Halloween\nWith an affinity for thirteen and black cats\nDoes it get any clearer?\nWalk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\nStaring into what I am\nSpace-time continuum\nAt the minimum, math and helium gases slash","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Situated\n  artist: Brother Ali feat. Pharoahe Monch\n  album: Secrets & Escapes\n  duration_ms: 277000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Alright, okay\n  Let's get it situated\n  I spit directly from the people that originated\n  All of that shit you faking\n  Think that imitation is amazing\n  You need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\n  I've been initiated,\n  Strictly by invitation\n  To the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\n  Revealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\n  He feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\n  I'm not shining, I'm growing\n  Every rhyme is a poem\n  You been already knowing,\n  I been trying to told 'em\n  Still grinding and groping, still prying it open\n  Still divinely controlled and I honour the moment\n  Been around the globe and always finding pieces of me\n  Reason to breath as deep as the sea\n  Pay the ticket price and speak it for free\n  Lay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\n  I arrive clear, no dye here\n  But the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\n  Uh, the dust I carry on me\n  Is just a ceremony\n  Because it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\n  You witness the glory, the gifted oratory\n  That I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\n  They thought the floor could hold me\n  They thought the sky confined me\n  They thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\n  They thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\n  Anything outside of space and time cannot be timely\n  Allow me, glad tidings to the strangers\n  Ain't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\n  That are happy being nameless\n  And absent from your papers\n  And could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\n  Hatred can't degrade them\n  Praise could never raise 'em\n  Their glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\n  And that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\n  The manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\n  This is by love, to love, through love, true love\n  Turn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\n  I'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\n  Nosebleed, meth amphetamine\n  Protein, USDA grade, totally lean\n  If you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\n  Promethazine fiend\n  Watch women in lululemon\n  Female geneticist, I study girls in jeans\n  Violent with the double-entendres\n  The weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\n  Then cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\n  Regurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\n  Sociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\n  And then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\n  Sick shit, with a torn meniscus\n  Dikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\n  Shrimp with a pimp\n  In Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\n  I'm proud, young gifted\n  Somewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\n  I'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\n  Shit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\n  Drinking Tanqueray with gators on\n  Playing Spades with Issa Rae\n  Black Jew screaming on New York avenues\n  I'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\n  Fast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\n  In fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\n  On a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\n  The fuck's blacker than that?\n  Came out the womb on Halloween\n  With an affinity for thirteen and black cats\n  Does it get any clearer?\n  Walk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\n  Staring into what I am\n  Space-time continuum\n  At the minimum, math and helium gases slash\n"},{"id":1975043,"name":"Situated (feat. Pharoahe Monch)","trackName":"Situated (feat. Pharoahe Monch)","artistName":"Brother Ali","albumName":"Secrets & Escapes","duration":277.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Alright, okay\nLet's get it situated\nI spit directly from the people that originated\nAll of that shit you faking\nThink that imitation is amazing\nYou need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\nI've been initiated,\nStrictly by invitation\nTo the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\nRevealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\nHe feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\nI'm not shining, I'm growing\nEvery rhyme is a poem\nYou been already knowing,\nI been trying to told 'em\nStill grinding and groping, still prying it open\nStill divinely controlled and I honour the moment\nBeen around the globe and always finding pieces of me\nReason to breath as deep as the sea\nPay the ticket price and speak it for free\nLay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\nI arrive clear, no dye here\nBut the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\nUh, the dust I carry on me\nIs just a ceremony\nBecause it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\nYou witness the glory, the gifted oratory\nThat I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\nThey thought the floor could hold me\nThey thought the sky confined me\nThey thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\nThey thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\nAnything outside of space and time cannot be timely\nAllow me, glad tidings to the strangers\nAin't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\nThat are happy being nameless\nAnd absent from your papers\nAnd could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\nHatred can't degrade them\nPraise could never raise 'em\nTheir glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\nAnd that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\nThe manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\nThis is by love, to love, through love, true love\nTurn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\nI'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\nNosebleed, meth amphetamine\nProtein, USDA grade, totally lean\nIf you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\nPromethazine fiend\nWatch women in lululemon\nFemale geneticist, I study girls in jeans\nViolent with the double-entendres\nThe weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\nThen cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\nRegurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\nSociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\nAnd then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\nSick shit, with a torn meniscus\nDikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\nShrimp with a pimp\nIn Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\nI'm proud, young gifted\nSomewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\nI'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\nShit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\nDrinking Tanqueray with gators on\nPlaying Spades with Issa Rae\nBlack Jew screaming on New York avenues\nI'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\nFast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\nIn fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\nOn a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\nThe fuck's blacker than that?\nCame out the womb on Halloween\nWith an affinity for thirteen and black cats\nDoes it get any clearer?\nWalk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\nStaring into what I am\nSpace-time continuum\nAt the minimum, math and helium gases slash","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Situated (feat. Pharoahe Monch)\n  artist: Brother Ali\n  album: Secrets & Escapes\n  duration_ms: 277000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Alright, okay\n  Let's get it situated\n  I spit directly from the people that originated\n  All of that shit you faking\n  Think that imitation is amazing\n  You need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\n  I've been initiated,\n  Strictly by invitation\n  To the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\n  Revealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\n  He feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\n  I'm not shining, I'm growing\n  Every rhyme is a poem\n  You been already knowing,\n  I been trying to told 'em\n  Still grinding and groping, still prying it open\n  Still divinely controlled and I honour the moment\n  Been around the globe and always finding pieces of me\n  Reason to breath as deep as the sea\n  Pay the ticket price and speak it for free\n  Lay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\n  I arrive clear, no dye here\n  But the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\n  Uh, the dust I carry on me\n  Is just a ceremony\n  Because it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\n  You witness the glory, the gifted oratory\n  That I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\n  They thought the floor could hold me\n  They thought the sky confined me\n  They thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\n  They thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\n  Anything outside of space and time cannot be timely\n  Allow me, glad tidings to the strangers\n  Ain't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\n  That are happy being nameless\n  And absent from your papers\n  And could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\n  Hatred can't degrade them\n  Praise could never raise 'em\n  Their glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\n  And that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\n  The manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\n  This is by love, to love, through love, true love\n  Turn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\n  I'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\n  Nosebleed, meth amphetamine\n  Protein, USDA grade, totally lean\n  If you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\n  Promethazine fiend\n  Watch women in lululemon\n  Female geneticist, I study girls in jeans\n  Violent with the double-entendres\n  The weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\n  Then cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\n  Regurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\n  Sociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\n  And then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\n  Sick shit, with a torn meniscus\n  Dikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\n  Shrimp with a pimp\n  In Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\n  I'm proud, young gifted\n  Somewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\n  I'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\n  Shit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\n  Drinking Tanqueray with gators on\n  Playing Spades with Issa Rae\n  Black Jew screaming on New York avenues\n  I'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\n  Fast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\n  In fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\n  On a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\n  The fuck's blacker than that?\n  Came out the womb on Halloween\n  With an affinity for thirteen and black cats\n  Does it get any clearer?\n  Walk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\n  Staring into what I am\n  Space-time continuum\n  At the minimum, math and helium gases slash\n"},{"id":14373756,"name":"Situated Ft. Pharoahe Monch","trackName":"Situated Ft. Pharoahe Monch","artistName":"Brother Ali","albumName":"Secrets & Escapes","duration":276.924082,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Alright, okay\nLet's get it situated\nI spit directly from the people that originated\nAll of that shit you faking\nThink that imitation is amazing\nYou need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\nI've been initiated,\nStrictly by invitation\nTo the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\nRevealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\nHe feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\nI'm not shining, I'm growing\nEvery rhyme is a poem\nYou been already knowing,\nI been trying to told 'em\nStill grinding and groping, still prying it open\nStill divinely controlled and I honour the moment\nBeen around the globe and always finding pieces of me\nReason to breath as deep as the sea\nPay the ticket price and speak it for free\nLay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\nI arrive clear, no dye here\nBut the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\nUh, the dust I carry on me\nIs just a ceremony\nBecause it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\nYou witness the glory, the gifted oratory\nThat I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\nThey thought the floor could hold me\nThey thought the sky confined me\nThey thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\nThey thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\nAnything outside of space and time cannot be timely\nAllow me, glad tidings to the strangers\nAin't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\nThat are happy being nameless\nAnd absent from your papers\nAnd could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\nHatred can't degrade them\nPraise could never raise 'em\nTheir glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\nAnd that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\nThe manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\nThis is by love, to love, through love, true love\nTurn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\nI'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\nNosebleed, meth amphetamine\nProtein, USDA grade, totally lean\nIf you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\nPromethazine fiend\nWatch women in lululemon\nFemale geneticist, I study girls in jeans\nViolent with the double-entendres\nThe weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\nThen cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\nRegurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\nSociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\nAnd then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\nSick shit, with a torn meniscus\nDikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\nShrimp with a pimp\nIn Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\nI'm proud, young gifted\nSomewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\nI'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\nShit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\nDrinking Tanqueray with gators on\nPlaying Spades with Issa Rae\nBlack Jew screaming on New York avenues\nI'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\nFast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\nIn fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\nOn a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\nThe fuck's blacker than that?\nCame out the womb on Halloween\nWith an affinity for thirteen and black cats\nDoes it get any clearer?\nWalk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\nStaring into what I am\nSpace-time continuum\nAt the minimum, math and helium gases slash","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Situated Ft. Pharoahe Monch\n  artist: Brother Ali\n  album: Secrets & Escapes\n  duration_ms: 276924\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Alright, okay\n  Let's get it situated\n  I spit directly from the people that originated\n  All of that shit you faking\n  Think that imitation is amazing\n  You need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\n  I've been initiated,\n  Strictly by invitation\n  To the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\n  Revealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\n  He feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\n  I'm not shining, I'm growing\n  Every rhyme is a poem\n  You been already knowing,\n  I been trying to told 'em\n  Still grinding and groping, still prying it open\n  Still divinely controlled and I honour the moment\n  Been around the globe and always finding pieces of me\n  Reason to breath as deep as the sea\n  Pay the ticket price and speak it for free\n  Lay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\n  I arrive clear, no dye here\n  But the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\n  Uh, the dust I carry on me\n  Is just a ceremony\n  Because it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\n  You witness the glory, the gifted oratory\n  That I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\n  They thought the floor could hold me\n  They thought the sky confined me\n  They thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\n  They thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\n  Anything outside of space and time cannot be timely\n  Allow me, glad tidings to the strangers\n  Ain't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\n  That are happy being nameless\n  And absent from your papers\n  And could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\n  Hatred can't degrade them\n  Praise could never raise 'em\n  Their glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\n  And that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\n  The manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\n  This is by love, to love, through love, true love\n  Turn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\n  I'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\n  Nosebleed, meth amphetamine\n  Protein, USDA grade, totally lean\n  If you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\n  Promethazine fiend\n  Watch women in lululemon\n  Female geneticist, I study girls in jeans\n  Violent with the double-entendres\n  The weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\n  Then cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\n  Regurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\n  Sociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\n  And then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\n  Sick shit, with a torn meniscus\n  Dikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\n  Shrimp with a pimp\n  In Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\n  I'm proud, young gifted\n  Somewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\n  I'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\n  Shit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\n  Drinking Tanqueray with gators on\n  Playing Spades with Issa Rae\n  Black Jew screaming on New York avenues\n  I'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\n  Fast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\n  In fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\n  On a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\n  The fuck's blacker than that?\n  Came out the womb on Halloween\n  With an affinity for thirteen and black cats\n  Does it get any clearer?\n  Walk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\n  Staring into what I am\n  Space-time continuum\n  At the minimum, math and helium gases slash\n"},{"id":40110961,"name":"Situated Featuring Pharoahe Monch","trackName":"Situated Featuring Pharoahe Monch","artistName":"Brother Ali","albumName":"Secrets and Escapes","duration":277.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Alright, okay\nLet's get it situated\nI spit directly from the people that originated\nAll of that shit you faking\nThink that imitation is amazing\nYou need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\nI've been initiated,\nStrictly by invitation\nTo the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\nRevealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\nHe feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\nI'm not shining, I'm growing\nEvery rhyme is a poem\nYou been already knowing,\nI been trying to told 'em\nStill grinding and groping, still prying it open\nStill divinely controlled and I honour the moment\nBeen around the globe and always finding pieces of me\nReason to breath as deep as the sea\nPay the ticket price and speak it for free\nLay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\nI arrive clear, no dye here\nBut the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\nUh, the dust I carry on me\nIs just a ceremony\nBecause it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\nYou witness the glory, the gifted oratory\nThat I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\nThey thought the floor could hold me\nThey thought the sky confined me\nThey thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\nThey thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\nAnything outside of space and time cannot be timely\nAllow me, glad tidings to the strangers\nAin't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\nThat are happy being nameless\nAnd absent from your papers\nAnd could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\nHatred can't degrade them\nPraise could never raise 'em\nTheir glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\nAnd that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\nThe manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\nThis is by love, to love, through love, true love\nTurn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\nI'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\nNosebleed, meth amphetamine\nProtein, USDA grade, totally lean\nIf you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\nPromethazine fiend\nWatch women in lululemon\nFemale geneticist, I study girls in jeans\nViolent with the double-entendres\nThe weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\nThen cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\nRegurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\nSociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\nAnd then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\nSick shit, with a torn meniscus\nDikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\nShrimp with a pimp\nIn Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\nI'm proud, young gifted\nSomewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\nI'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\nShit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\nDrinking Tanqueray with gators on\nPlaying Spades with Issa Rae\nBlack Jew screaming on New York avenues\nI'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\nFast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\nIn fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\nOn a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\nThe fuck's blacker than that?\nCame out the womb on Halloween\nWith an affinity for thirteen and black cats\nDoes it get any clearer?\nWalk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\nStaring into what I am\nSpace-time continuum\nAt the minimum, math and helium gases slash","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Situated Featuring Pharoahe Monch\n  artist: Brother Ali\n  album: Secrets and Escapes\n  duration_ms: 276893\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Alright, okay\n  Let's get it situated\n  I spit directly from the people that originated\n  All of that shit you faking\n  Think that imitation is amazing\n  You need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\n  I've been initiated,\n  Strictly by invitation\n  To the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\n  Revealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\n  He feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\n  I'm not shining, I'm growing\n  Every rhyme is a poem\n  You been already knowing,\n  I been trying to told 'em\n  Still grinding and groping, still prying it open\n  Still divinely controlled and I honour the moment\n  Been around the globe and always finding pieces of me\n  Reason to breath as deep as the sea\n  Pay the ticket price and speak it for free\n  Lay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\n  I arrive clear, no dye here\n  But the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\n  Uh, the dust I carry on me\n  Is just a ceremony\n  Because it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\n  You witness the glory, the gifted oratory\n  That I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\n  They thought the floor could hold me\n  They thought the sky confined me\n  They thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\n  They thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\n  Anything outside of space and time cannot be timely\n  Allow me, glad tidings to the strangers\n  Ain't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\n  That are happy being nameless\n  And absent from your papers\n  And could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\n  Hatred can't degrade them\n  Praise could never raise 'em\n  Their glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\n  And that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\n  The manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\n  This is by love, to love, through love, true love\n  Turn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\n  I'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\n  Nosebleed, meth amphetamine\n  Protein, USDA grade, totally lean\n  If you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\n  Promethazine fiend\n  Watch women in lululemon\n  Female geneticist, I study girls in jeans\n  Violent with the double-entendres\n  The weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\n  Then cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\n  Regurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\n  Sociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\n  And then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\n  Sick shit, with a torn meniscus\n  Dikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\n  Shrimp with a pimp\n  In Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\n  I'm proud, young gifted\n  Somewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\n  I'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\n  Shit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\n  Drinking Tanqueray with gators on\n  Playing Spades with Issa Rae\n  Black Jew screaming on New York avenues\n  I'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\n  Fast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\n  In fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\n  On a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\n  The fuck's blacker than that?\n  Came out the womb on Halloween\n  With an affinity for thirteen and black cats\n  Does it get any clearer?\n  Walk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\n  Staring into what I am\n  Space-time continuum\n  At the minimum, math and helium gases slash\n"},{"id":1975042,"name":"Situated (feat. Pharoahe Monch)","trackName":"Situated (feat. Pharoahe Monch)","artistName":"Brother Ali feat. Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Secrets & Escapes","duration":277.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"Alright, okay\nLet's get it situated\nI spit directly from the people that originated\nAll of that shit you faking\nThink that imitation is amazing\nYou need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\nI've been initiated,\nStrictly by invitation\nTo the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\nRevealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\nHe feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\nI'm not shining, I'm growing\nEvery rhyme is a poem\nYou been already knowing,\nI been trying to told 'em\nStill grinding and groping, still prying it open\nStill divinely controlled and I honour the moment\nBeen around the globe and always finding pieces of me\nReason to breath as deep as the sea\nPay the ticket price and speak it for free\nLay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\nI arrive clear, no dye here\nBut the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\nUh, the dust I carry on me\nIs just a ceremony\nBecause it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\nYou witness the glory, the gifted oratory\nThat I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\nThey thought the floor could hold me\nThey thought the sky confined me\nThey thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\nThey thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\nAnything outside of space and time cannot be timely\nAllow me, glad tidings to the strangers\nAin't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\nThat are happy being nameless\nAnd absent from your papers\nAnd could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\nHatred can't degrade them\nPraise could never raise 'em\nTheir glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\nAnd that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\nThe manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\nThis is by love, to love, through love, true love\nTurn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\nI'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\nNosebleed, meth amphetamine\nProtein, USDA grade, totally lean\nIf you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\nPromethazine fiend\nWatch women in lululemon\nFemale geneticist, I study girls in jeans\nViolent with the double-entendres\nThe weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\nThen cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\nRegurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\nSociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\nAnd then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\nSick shit, with a torn meniscus\nDikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\nShrimp with a pimp\nIn Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\nI'm proud, young gifted\nSomewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\nI'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\nShit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\nDrinking Tanqueray with gators on\nPlaying Spades with Issa Rae\nBlack Jew screaming on New York avenues\nI'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\nFast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\nIn fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\nOn a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\nThe fuck's blacker than that?\nCame out the womb on Halloween\nWith an affinity for thirteen and black cats\nDoes it get any clearer?\nWalk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\nStaring into what I am\nSpace-time continuum\nAt the minimum, math and helium gases slash","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Situated (feat. Pharoahe Monch)\n  artist: Brother Ali feat. Pharoahe Monch\n  album: Secrets & Escapes\n  duration_ms: 277000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  Alright, okay\n  Let's get it situated\n  I spit directly from the people that originated\n  All of that shit you faking\n  Think that imitation is amazing\n  You need to fix your faces quickly 'for your spirit get eliminated\n  I've been initiated,\n  Strictly by invitation\n  To the order of the Samurai, so this is sacred\n  Revealing by right, he's heat but I'm light\n  He feel it shine bright, deleting all hype\n  I'm not shining, I'm growing\n  Every rhyme is a poem\n  You been already knowing,\n  I been trying to told 'em\n  Still grinding and groping, still prying it open\n  Still divinely controlled and I honour the moment\n  Been around the globe and always finding pieces of me\n  Reason to breath as deep as the sea\n  Pay the ticket price and speak it for free\n  Lay my head on any bed and then eventually dream of the key\n  I arrive clear, no dye here\n  But the colors of the tears cried here might appear on my beard\n  Uh, the dust I carry on me\n  Is just a ceremony\n  Because it bears the stories of the ones that came before me\n  You witness the glory, the gifted oratory\n  That I distribute as the richness of the poor and holy\n  They thought the floor could hold me\n  They thought the sky confined me\n  They thought the prison of the earthly body might define me\n  They thought because that God is out of sight, I follow blindly\n  Anything outside of space and time cannot be timely\n  Allow me, glad tidings to the strangers\n  Ain't concerned with being famous, or how many hits their page gets\n  That are happy being nameless\n  And absent from your papers\n  And could never be swayed by someone clapping in their faces\n  Hatred can't degrade them\n  Praise could never raise 'em\n  Their glamor can't be faded by no passing entertainment\n  And that's the generation where I catch my inspiration\n  The manuscript they're saving is the one I scratched my name in\n  This is by love, to love, through love, true love\n  Turn the lights down and turn the tune up\n\n  I'm that ticket to get you higher than a mezzanine\n  Nosebleed, meth amphetamine\n  Protein, USDA grade, totally lean\n  If you holding up the wall, you know what I mean\n  Promethazine fiend\n  Watch women in lululemon\n  Female geneticist, I study girls in jeans\n  Violent with the double-entendres\n  The weed whacker that'll strike the bong and hit ganja\n  Then cut a rug before I drink Mary's blood\n  Regurgitate it, praise it, then raise the murder rate in the club\n  Sociopath, I will slice the tat off a thug\n  And then spit a slug in his mug and leave the hands of time with a nub\n  Sick shit, with a torn meniscus\n  Dikembe Mutombo ordering jumbo-\n  Shrimp with a pimp\n  In Red Lobster eating buttermilk biscuits\n  I'm proud, young gifted\n  Somewhere in between red and green, getting lifted\n  I'm half of the planet when the Sun gets eclipsed\n  Shit, I'm Steve Harvey at the African Day Parade\n  Drinking Tanqueray with gators on\n  Playing Spades with Issa Rae\n  Black Jew screaming on New York avenues\n  I'm blacker than black people's desire for new shoes\n  Fast, you couldn't catch him if you was Mohamed Sanu\n  In fact, I'm blacker than running numbers in sou-sous\n  On a cruise with Patti LaBelle screaming church hymns and blues\n  The fuck's blacker than that?\n  Came out the womb on Halloween\n  With an affinity for thirteen and black cats\n  Does it get any clearer?\n  Walk barefoot under ladders in a house of broken mirrors\n  Staring into what I am\n  Space-time continuum\n  At the minimum, math and helium gases slash\n"}]