Shaun Friedman - Stroke of the Stratosphere

Intruder on the beat no that’s a shooter on his feet
Mr. Shaun Fried no Lex Lugar on the beat
A super saranova Menacing like Black Cobra
We need experience before the veterans can show up

The microphone it grabs me in, with the alloy metal tip
Row your boat down the stream or you could try to paddle it
The stratosphere might seem a little bit queer
With the way my atmosphere bubbles up my wit beer

He’s a mover on his feet, never “pooped” too soon
Hoop dreams to succeed is when you lift off to the moon
I cut up on the micro, blown and all that
Mr. Psycho cyclone, ready for combat

Written thru night storms produces poems from my mind
There’s no telling what I’ll might find, And at the right time
It all makes sense, and that’s a precious moment
Of the present omen, When everyone’s presence is so open

Lyrical scepter, receptor of transmission
Feel my frequency get in tune the image
Elude new suspicions, suspend your belief
See I’ve been magnetized and always get pulled back to the beat

The completion of a sacred secretion
Entertaining deletion with every second that passes by
Don’t ask why just accept no control no regrets
Asshole ask a square then prepare to connect

Cutting [Chasing] the rarest bet,
I swear on intuition
Always trust your gut or end up crushed by your decisions
The incision helps to open up, chose a prose scalpel
Slicing through the paper like you saw a sword do apple

First we were a tad pool part of a school of semen
Now I’m, trapped in the rat hole, man these cats are scheming
Back to the worm hole instead
You can catch my lift off in Cleveland this evening, Friends

The stratosphere’s accolades captivate my mind
Imagination Blind
And then I’m facing time
I creep from behind
In the finite inner bind
I’m reaching for my prime
And seeing what’s really mine

Until I’m honestly dead, the creative spark should never go dark [March]
When I’m stuck in a pickled riddle better rip it apart [Arc]
Hit my mark, the center of my focus
Could never be prevented, the pure mention of it’s bogus [hocus]

So I swayed toward, known tactics
Down Niagra in a barrel backwards [still intact]
Stuck in cave in a terror blackness [trapped]
Reach for the sky with the Pterodactylus

Don’t you dare turn your back on us
Mix it with the kick and snare with a nasty punch
Lunge onwards, never squander
Fuck imposters, theory quantum
It’s my turn you rotten scoundrels

Written by:
SHAUN FRIEDMAN

Publisher:
Lyrics © Songtrust Ave

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