Jehst - High Plains Anthem lyrics

[Verse 1] I walked in a saloon at high noon, the moonshine sipper Spit a new rhyme till it's asta la vista The king blue twister, smash your transistor "It's the High Plains Drifter", that had to resist the Sickness of the city life, I'm sat by the river A packet of Rizla and a flask full of liquor Made the locals ask: "who's the masked figure?" Fill a page with the pain it seems you can't picture The last heavy hitter, so many consider me To be very bitter, switching up my delivery Stitching up my injuries, and flipping imagery Mixing toxins till I'm lost in the synergy Drown in my misery, a man of mystery I stand in the blistering heat as the epitome Of the anti-hero, tipping my Stetson Space cowboy, I drink whiskey with George Jetson Two thousand and one, the space western Quick on the draw, bring a war to your section Blood Sport veteran, contraband cargo The known desperado rolled into Lago [Scratches] [Verse 2] I ride with lost peasants, hot stepping across deserts Letting the dust settle for sheep who watch shepherds Yeah I rock sessions, with unorthodox methods The messenger, ready for d**h when God beckons On frontlines worldwide kids have got weapons And grey skies hide sunshine from the heavens I'm threatened, by the seven sins of my species I don't need TV, I read tea leaves Smoke the peace pipe, in the chief's tepee I speak freely, the 3D graffiti writer Is kinda like the new easy rider More bad apples in the crew than cheap cider I breath fire, the propane flamethrower Man the fort for this hostile takeover I play poker-faced, hold the ace Tucked up my sleeve, leave your mouth with a sour taste That's just how I play the game nowadays Apologies to the crowd, I'm a hour late [Scratches] [Verse 3] Battling me? That'd be an embarra**ing mistake Like promoters who don't get the "H" in the right place My mic stays in close range, I travel the low plains But drift on a high like c**aine Exchange words with the man with no name Inspectors, throwing up letters on the ghost train I rotate, like old brakes on chrome plates Hunched up, punching keys till my bones ache I blow fakes outta the water, chucking harpoons You can't move, running on the spot like a cartoon Leaving a trail of destruction when I pa** through The drunk fool, fighting off demons with a barstool Screaming "Ja Rule", my instincts are carnal The dirty rascal, or the king of the castle? I'm partial to both titles, the soldier's quoting the Bible Holding my rifles to false idols I love the crackle on the old vinyl, I rock break loops And make moves from my HQ I stay true to the ancient ways The herbalist curb-surfer riding pavement waves