Tekst piosenki
Melanin 9 – Colours
All lyrics by Melanin 9
Verse 1
Sat in a shrines spirit/ walls white my spine pivots/ lights mimic/
Over estate roof heights with 9 villains/
In white linen/
My arms extended on a marble dresser/
With palms on the sagas of khepra/
The glance of an emperor/
Glasses of nectar/
Shuffled cards/ bitches in baths/
The city’s pillars arched over barberous peddlers/ i start sketching/
I view it like a collage in a spectrum/
A coloured scheme mirage to enhance my perception/
Ink blotches of burgundy bricks and PINK optics/ SILVER locks picked/
Shots lick in his snot bridge/ cops script the burner hit his sternam on page 2/
For serving strips of purple haze herbs on estate roofs/ face blue like Armanis black armies who spray crews/
Peddle caine on yellow stained pavements with Grey Goose/ prison escape routes authors their brains well/
To stack pinkies from weighing white stones on a grey scale/ a mind full of coloured schemes in their brain cells/ with tatts covering BLUE stitches over their vein rails/
From Whitechapel pipe grapples and 8th sales/ Red bodies of babies found where the drain smells/
Chorus
The colours colours/
The white black and brown/
The white enslaved the black/ the black
Hates the brown/
For the colours colours/
Really depends on the colour that forms the complexion/
Which governs our own perceptions
Verse 2
Its red light led strikes from legion wars/
Ped bikes and pealing walls/
RED stripes and reefer draws/
Knives and immigrants/
Barry White vinyls and instruments
Bribing the suck pink dices from piping predecrements/
Between the amber lorry/
Silver bangle blondies/
Fill bags of bobby’s/ with black hammers inside their Abercrombies/
My coloured capsules probably/
Purple patterns and patches of blood splattered bodies/ from mechanic shottys/
That blow like Egyptian winds drifting over a gold sand/ deep as a barrel’s black hole strapped to a cold hand/
The nose tips the window the rubber grips the frame/ the grey colours above us is the muffler’s aim/
Kaleidoscope pictures/ of white owners of coke shifters/ serve silver haze through Blackberry’s the fuck gold diggers/
Mimicking amber rose strippers with toned pigments/ they put purple acrylic coat glitters with their toes blistered/
Drunk from guzzling White Russians under gang spells/ to having a child driven from a black male/
His kids wrapping bits packaging sales/ never fed on silver platter fits his characters tale/
Full of colours
Chorus x2
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