"Haarlem" lyrics
(feat. Fatboi Sharif)
Swimmin' in palm oil out here
King of all blacks, I eat human hearts
I let things fall apart, motorcars rustin' in the garage
Granadillas wild in the yard, vines climbin' burglar bars
The roof fell in, on God, it's full of stars
I swam in the dark, sun fled, the moon large
Fire leap from Perry's Black Ark
Slash and burn, the past is never far
Reaching with chopped arms, lopped hands, no spare parts
The band played "Those Were the Days," I watched 'em hang
I ate red red in the stadium stands
From crumbling balustrades, I watched 'em dance
Like drill rappers
You have your price
It's rather high
How high?
Gallows high
They grew fat in famine
Our mortarless fortresses lie abandoned
Alien monoliths still standin', pantin'
Super Ape, put a candle in a skull for a lantern
Light a dutch in Haarlem, Amsterdam, steps of a mansion
Speaking Afrikaans, British accent, I want mine from back when
Thebe said the wind get the ashes in the end, bruv
The guerrillas severed every inoculated limb, left 'em with stubs
Ziggurats on the Nile, bought the house and tore it down
All your yesterdays in one neat pile
The will of the state is supreme
Destiny has entrusted in our hands the will of the state
The will of the state is supreme
Destiny has entrusted in our hands the will of the state
The will of the state is supreme
Destiny has entrusted in our hands the will of the state
No pictures, no touchin' the strippers
Don't come around with no glass slippers
Gas lamps, gas masks, rain slickers, glass lens
The unslaved nigga, Moorish bandits
Moorish science entanglement tangents
Get you a pistol if you want your prayers answered
Holding court, the whole breast heavy as gourds, milk rancid
Standin' downwind of the homeless encampment
Find my way home, white man left a lamp lit
The pistol burnin' on this mystical journey
Sold parallel paradise, postcarded vision souvenir
Missile launchin' redemption
Church faculty sniper bullets close to the king and moshpit Bleeding marksmen
Bloody footprints, ran from crime scene, crooks involved
The carousel ring backwards, exorcism
Possession of the cookie jar
I have reason to believe that a press photographer might find his way into your retreat, in spite of all our precautions for your privacy
A foreign journalist, one of the best. I have seen some of his work. The work of a genius
I don't like being photographed! It would be a most unwarrantable intrusion
King of all blacks, I eat human hearts
I let things fall apart, motorcars rustin' in the garage
Granadillas wild in the yard, vines climbin' burglar bars
The roof fell in, on God, it's full of stars
I swam in the dark, sun fled, the moon large
Fire leap from Perry's Black Ark
Slash and burn, the past is never far
Reaching with chopped arms, lopped hands, no spare parts
The band played "Those Were the Days," I watched 'em hang
I ate red red in the stadium stands
From crumbling balustrades, I watched 'em dance
Like drill rappers
You have your price
It's rather high
How high?
Gallows high
They grew fat in famine
Our mortarless fortresses lie abandoned
Alien monoliths still standin', pantin'
Super Ape, put a candle in a skull for a lantern
Light a dutch in Haarlem, Amsterdam, steps of a mansion
Speaking Afrikaans, British accent, I want mine from back when
Thebe said the wind get the ashes in the end, bruv
The guerrillas severed every inoculated limb, left 'em with stubs
Ziggurats on the Nile, bought the house and tore it down
All your yesterdays in one neat pile
The will of the state is supreme
Destiny has entrusted in our hands the will of the state
The will of the state is supreme
Destiny has entrusted in our hands the will of the state
The will of the state is supreme
Destiny has entrusted in our hands the will of the state
No pictures, no touchin' the strippers
Don't come around with no glass slippers
Gas lamps, gas masks, rain slickers, glass lens
The unslaved nigga, Moorish bandits
Moorish science entanglement tangents
Get you a pistol if you want your prayers answered
Holding court, the whole breast heavy as gourds, milk rancid
Standin' downwind of the homeless encampment
Find my way home, white man left a lamp lit
The pistol burnin' on this mystical journey
Sold parallel paradise, postcarded vision souvenir
Missile launchin' redemption
Church faculty sniper bullets close to the king and moshpit Bleeding marksmen
Bloody footprints, ran from crime scene, crooks involved
The carousel ring backwards, exorcism
Possession of the cookie jar
I have reason to believe that a press photographer might find his way into your retreat, in spite of all our precautions for your privacy
A foreign journalist, one of the best. I have seen some of his work. The work of a genius
I don't like being photographed! It would be a most unwarrantable intrusion
