"Wicked Licks"  Parental Advisory genre: Experimental/Post Rock
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	Hardcore/Junglist ode to the pure roots of unadultered hip-hop.
	CD: Zooloft EP 2001   Label: N/A Credits: Zooloft, copyright 2001
	Story Behind the Song Respect to hip-hop and its influence upon all music across the board. Lyrics A piece of metal connected to a board Two turntables and a microwhore I'm a fucking fiend and I've been since '83 If I don't get to hold it, it's over for me See, I love this shit, the adrenaline rush I'll tell you a little something But we'll keep it on the hush It's almost as good as a big piece of wood When an emcee rocks a beat like it should get rocked And the dj kick in with one drop I picture that fader being my spot That shit gets me open, that shit gets me locked Like a synchronized crowd, automatic head nod It's a wide-open soul exhibition For those who take in, vibe and listen When an emcee shines like he was born to rhyme And it's a natural reaction to the bass line Then the serotonin halts, rises under my hood And the hip-hop connection makes me feel so good Yeah, this is my shit This is my fix This is what I n'I would call wicked licks Like a vibrant floor, bouncing skirts The sound from the speakers makes bodies merge B-boys and rude girls bubble by the wall The street is on the wall and I'm gonna climb this wall Not a corporate ladder, it couldn't be phatter Than to see that shit shatter and make real things matter In this life too, not just before or after I'm gonna take what I can, I'm gonna be a fucking Napster Some don't give a fuck, it's easier that way Illusionary leeway to continue to stray And not challenge a challenge, but choose to obey While souls are auctioned off on eBay I'm the master of my emotions But it's only through venting that I avoid an explosion Mental commotion, mind erosion Rhyme or die, my lips are always in motion I told you I'm an addict, I told you I'm a fiend I don't spit to be seen, this is something I need Life is a dance on deadly nails And the media can make us feel as if we've failed And some emcees add to the race By blasting ice and cars in my face And they try to make me cherish golden things I cherish the dirt for the food it brings Remember this when I n'I come a-dance And you want to make an Ital bitch like me bounce I'd rather bounce to an instrumental Than to a rhyme that's fake like the smiles of Mentos I meant those words so I had them combined I don't spit to be nasty, but to ease my mind And with a life so fucked, I don't run out of lines A memory loss, yeah, that would suit me fine Like a bag of glue, lighter fumes I tried it all to make my life brighter But nothing worked until I entered the cipher I owe my life to hip-hop and I'm gonna make it tighter

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