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Daniel Babich
Favorite styles: Drum & Bass, Funk, Garage, House, Jazzstep, Soul, Techno, Trip-Hop, Аналитика, Интервью, Разговорный
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You don't have to be so scared to share what's inside 
'cause you're Daddy's little superstar 
and you're Mama's little butterfly 
fly high

A strange strange litany of verses and reverses 
adlibs and rehearses 
clouds burst and words cursed 
an argument breaks out 
it's one we've all heard before, it's boring 
had us all snoring from the first line 
one after another chimed in perfect time 
tired rehashes of petty cashes and mismatches 
you shoulda coulda's 
and "why didn't 'tcha dida's" 
crippling snippets aimed at the heart 
to inflame and impart blame

...framed like Mumia 
verbal diarrhea 
creating chasms between the souls of two 
or two billion

nations torn apart 
station to station damnation 
with much deliberation and very little consideration 
to the return on the damage from the altercation 
collateral condemnation 
then denyin' like colorization of an old black and white 
create a revision of the recent last night 
the fight that started with two words, "I'm right"

You don't have to be so scared to share what's inside 
'cause you're Daddy's little superstar 
and you're Mama's little butterfly 
fly high...


But of course the fight ends with no resolution 
merely a vow for retribution, substitution, execution, electrocution 
ruthless, toothless and truthless 
mumbling through page after page of excuses 
abuses of the gift of the gab
You don't have to be so scared to share what's inside 
'cause you're Daddy's little superstar 
and you're Mama's little butterfly 
fly high


Gabriel the trumpeter 
bestowed upon us a voice with a choice 
and a tongue kept moist by years of salivating 
for oysters.. pearls and aphrodisiacs 
locked in an ugly shell always too chewy and gooey 
so they get swallowed whole 
but a tongue is so much more than a vehicle for greed 
a tongue is for washing fur 
or for licking wounds 
or for welcoming newcomers into a room

or cleansing those fresh from the womb 
without a tongue there would be no croons 
swoons, Junes under the moon 
no bees pollinating no flowers in bloom 
no recitation of words at the foot of a tomb 
or wills read aloud of the family heirlooms 
you probably couldn't even blow up a balloon 
and that would be a shame 
because to exhales the name of the game 
exhale from the heart 
not from the lungs 
exhale from the heart 
not from the tongue

Listening is understanding 
and finding compassion 
love is the action of soul satisfaction

a tongue can make wishes and also fine kisses 
taste a sweet cake and also cast disses 
but nothing compares to the voice from within 
without it we might just be mannequins 
up to no darn good shenanigans 
learn to be skilful movers of the stones 
that block the heart and turn humans to clones 
learn to forgive, set free the bones 
touch with your flesh, take off the rubber gloves 
love like your life depends on it 
because it does
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