We go hush, hear the early morning adrenaline rush
Like amphetamine brush the street, unsettling lush retreat
From the same monotone concrete setting
Treading over train tracks, silver blocks spreading
Early may, six am, sunrise, time for playin
The smell of spring dawn in my arteries
Decaying the night, I got can seven cans packed to bring today in
Not a soul in sight, my insight: to stop praying
Keep my guard up, every step carefully planned
The operation area scanned, carry in hand
The aerosol weapon, colorful contraband goods
Come night fall and I'll be running through the woods
The sparsely populated quasi hoods of the north step forth
The streets remain silent and soft, no violent import
To distort the picture presented
No illegal activity more openly resented
The underpass filled with images to scare the living hell
Out of the middle class with stories they can't tell
Put a spell on the spellbound citizens of the hell bound train
Crying to be painted by freon rain
Not one letter in vain on a wall without a stain
And the ones that remain clean are the ones I disdain
Dream and train for the bliss of mornings like this
The meaning of my life and my hip hop mistress

After the laughter soon the afternoon intermission
Low profile, slow mo style intuition
Inefficient, quiet relax mode condition
Ready for re-ignition and the midnight mission
Minutes like raindrops, hours like rivers
The anticipation giving me the shivers
But the stereo delivers a suburban lullaby
No alibi, I'm waterproof when the quarter moon quivers
On transit ride to the far east side
The industrial backyard artist worldwide
Harvest the hardest respect and gain pride
With the game tied the rain died
And two half of the same side are in battle
No complaint, peculiar and quaint
A clinically dead wall on a life support of paint
With no restraint, the fumes so strong they make you faint
Like an evangelist the vandalous graffiti saint

Figure the scratching is the sound of bright colored walls
In overalls, under the ground concert halls
Concentrated on the job, carefully installs
The answer to a nation of final station calls
In the background, never back down
Turn left right and back round the corner
As the night gets warmer
The underground performer with a medal brush
To form a figure, shape, size, and realize the vision born again
A latter day type of cultural vain
Can't explain the surrealistic
And lifted graffiti plain beyond the valley
Pray for the salvation of the alleyway
Operating NYC, Helsinki and Cali-way