(Yo, you ever… go outside at night, look up into the sky, into the big, immense sky and think to yourself that’s a big sky! Like an inkwell…)      In a city that’s been waiting to blow since big butts and teen spirit   Many make music, few can hear it, secluded in the upper left    Dominantly grey-shaded skies every other day, sorta like the bay   Just a little bit wetter, and cold in the winter   Proximity to water make the soul a little gentler   Out of towners don’t be knowin’ about the best-kept   Ain’t nothing better than the summer in the Northwest   Microphone check 1-206,    Buddha smoke, buddha smoke, can I get a quick fix to lift    This eye to the level of needle in the sky   Lookin’ over the sound against the shores of the suicide capital   Bust the magical dust, grammatically adjust the satellite   What makes Seattle tight? The fruits have been ripe in spite of all the bull,   And last second changes of plans like on hold   And prodigal sons, whose motto is ‘run whenever possible’   Watch Mr. Officer shoot before he aims   And claims self-defense in the name of the citizenry   SPD’s spread the city like an STD   I’m rollin’, Rainier bumpin’, let’s get free   While the people sleep, I must speak till they wake   Now let me push my pen to create      Beats, rhymes and life   Each time I write the fire ignites   I light the sky   There’s an infinite inkwell high above the city   Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody   Of beats, rhymes and life   Each time I write the fire ignites   I light the sky   There’s an infinite inkwell high above the city   Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody      They paved rock candy and put up a parking lot   It was a spot for ‘em and it was hot up in it   The cops lit it up when the thugs fisticuffs   Then the mayor was quick to up and pin it on hip hop   Shows got dropped on the cinder block crush   What’s left of the scene rose up from the dust   It must have been many times overfrustrated   To watch the downfall of those who could’ve made it while   Some waited for the next Mixalot to blow   Others made moves said “shit we ought to grow” but   Time moves slow when the clock’s overweight   Meaning those who wait as opposed to create   But those who make bread do not break the mold   I was only 19 but my rhymes were bold   When the things got for real I got up in the fold   And put up into practice all that I was told   Wickedia then came up and showed love   We called ourselves ‘Phase’ and ironically it was   Became the last kid still writing at 9-5   B-town ciphers with tale and justify   Moved to the city, started posing as a journalist   To get press passes and ask kids for burgers, to prove instead   Put down the pen, picked up the mic   Came in for competitor’s heads   And when I got down severin’ several losers   Started getting down with hella producers   They welcomed me into the big house   But they didn’t feel the city so they moved back south   And other dudes weren’t even worth it to work with   And if I see one, there’s about to be a murder worth a jaw   You get two double zero one, the struggle just begun to bear fruit   At the end of a troubling youth, Sabzi got me    To speak over beats like the key to unlock me, and I’ll be damned   Ten years to the summer I began, I’m still up in the lab   And while the people sleep I must speak til they wake   Now let me push this pen to create   While the people sleep I must speak til they wake   Now let me push this pen to create      Beats, rhymes and life   Each time I write the fire ignites   I light the sky   There’s an infinite inkwell high above the city   Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody    Of beats, rhymes and life   Each time I write the fire ignites   I light the sky   There’s an infinite inkwell high above the city   Dip the pen steadily, sing the melody…