I Speak Volumes (ft. JaySo)

from by Fellowman

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Turn up the bass
Say fuck the jake
You taking up space
Turn another page
Get your mustard straight
Before you suffocate
The rusty blade I cut your nations with is custom-made

I speak volumes, I speak volumes,
I speak volumes, boy, I speak volumes

[Verse 1 – JaySo]
Gimme time, feel the vibe of a nigga,
just survive, stay alive with a nigga,
a better life set aside for a nigga,
never lied, swear to God if I did it.
Cut ties, gave me lemons, made mudpies,
out a dirty upbringing made an uprise.
Surprise, til I die never subside,
even lions about the pride til the cub dies.
I never get a chance to speak my piece,
paint a picture with the lyrics, they can see my speech.
Started out with nothing, made it piece by piece
like it's Legos, holla “leggo” till I reach my peak.
If y'all the heat, I seek to destroy,
d-boys street-sweep these decoys,
with this rhythm I just kick it, Bruce Leroy,
never switching, for my city still a beast boy.
If it's ever a problem I stick to the code, she standing beside me,
she pick of the litter, these niggas was probably picking they nose
I sense how they got me so twisted cuz really
I'll die for my business, they're living for clothes,
I'll never forget how deprived I was living,
decided my mission, dispensing these flows—yes,
notes make a nigga go tonedeaf, high like a fighter drone jet
sly like a private own tryna bite my style, he ain't find his own yet.
Only I decide if I should ride or play the wall,
you don't like the quiet guy, he silent right reciting volumes.


[Verse 2 – Fellowman]
Careful who you overlooking, I'm known the jux and
never pay for ass, so I could give a fuck about your vocal hooking,
local shows you booking, the Os you pushing,
your meanest verse ain't even worth the change between my sofa cushions.
You commonplace, like a roach in Brooklyn,
I'm special like Allah's grace to a devoted Muslim.
My life's an open book and you can read the fine print,
copyright page says “product of his environment.”
Though operating on a plane that mine is higher than,
these ballers claim they rock like Amadeus with the violin
but their songs remain uninspired, and what they call the game's
a trauma patient tryna find the proper place to die up in.
Fuck the fake conversations they're lying in
politics vague when they're making alliances.
When I drop leave a crater as wide as the
weight of the water displaced by Leviathan.
The conflagration that fires him
not to be tamed as it rages, a five-alarm
blaze with an oxygen craving the size of a small room,
when I fall through.

[Chorus x2]


from Raw Data Vol. 1: Soul of the Shitty, released April 17, 2016
produced, recorded & mixed by Fellowman




Fellowman Charlottesville, Virginia

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