Farhad Ebrahimi - The Form lyrics

[Hook] I'm listening to rap CDs from the middle of the storm Where the weak ones die and the strong ones mourn And the fire in which you burn keeps me warm The final breath of d**h is the art, the form Is the rap CDs from the middle of the storm Far from the place I was born But I seen it in a p**n The producer said he had once burned And he learned how to fill out the form [Verse 1] In the middle of the storm With the winds blowing hard and fast And the hurricane spin throwing shards of gla** Alleycats dump litters and guard trash Feminine skin scraped and shredded Women and men raped and beheaded And taped as they utter their last breath Blood-plastered lips mutter "f** that other ba*tard" Kiss their mother and praise God with the pastor Race to the d**h Who's faster? Who's faster? The news casters cruised past so they could video tape The raped-and-bruised-ba*tard Spliced him into segments used after adver- Tisements and regular fake-confused laughter I heard of this disaster But I don't know about it But every rapper's got a flow about it [Hook] [Verse 2] The producer pa**ed Heard the blood bleeding Turned, the last words so hot he had a CD burned With a song about the mom and a song about the pastor And fifteen songs sayin' "f** that other ba*tard" Remixed and mastered, humanity clipped Tracks blunted so everybody wanted a hit Takin sh** from the hood, makin' it taste good When it played at the club the whole place stood On their tip-toes Wild like flip mode Calypso Snippet so tight they rip clothes At the hip hop hard so the CD skips On an isolated quote from the dead man's bleeding lips "b**hn***af*g, b**hn***af*g" Onomatopoeia of bloody fists and a bag of dollars Rich kids hadn't cared now holler "Producer" Produced a gold six figure tag on his collar [Hook] [Verse 3] He made ten million dollars out of one soul Won't stop, can't stop, spinnin' outta control Learnin' how to win a gold and how to flow slow And in every single video rollin' in dough Getting baked with the honeys, try to use em up Divin' into money like Scrooge McDuck Frantically movin' up s**in' vodka from bootstraps Standin' on the back of a bull in a space suit Trapped k**er whales out in the pool Sippin' monkey brains out of the skull With cinnamon sticks Teletubby suit with the head back grinnin' and sh** Yellow belly monitor tracks blazin sinnin' in six Figures, relaxin' days in linen laced limos Bigger, addin' switches swimmin in liquor Puff ciggerette drags and disses, callin' everybody "Blacks," and "Gays," and "Women" This is rags to riches, bread crumbs to cream From wanted ads to ads for burrito supreme Stocks, bonds, and charity teams Millionaire cleans doubt out by sharin' the green But he's openly declarin' his scheme Tough, arrogant, mean Time to time tries to teach what Farrakhan means I was starin at the barren scene there on the screen And he yelled out "I am the American dream" [Hook] (Cut! This is all wrong. This is art, not exploitation. Alright, let's do it again from the top.) ... Everybody rock