The Trilogy - Jehst, RICOCHET, Tommy Evans

This saga will be spoken in three parts

Startin' from the moment this tree sparks

Opponents get broken like weak hearts

Step into my theme park

The beast can’t fuck with my karma

Any drama’s confined to these speech marks

Margins and paragraphs

Bastard tried to sabotage

But can’t see past the camouflage

Pay-phone chameleon

My tone disappears into thin air

My skin relfects light like I’m not there

I cotch where the skyline’s ashtray gray

But shine amber

And always stay cloaked below the wide angle spy camera

Mind tangle by the tight ganja

My words rep the downtrodden like a strike banner

Analog data

Know me as the codebreaker

Smoked out playing poker with the lone ranger

Puttin' LSD in your salt shaker

And if it’s in bad taste

Well fuck it

That’s my own flavour

The stone-age beat maker

I’m huntin' for drums

Runnin' my toungue

Along the gum on this free paper

Another young-freak of nature

Dirty faced crate-raider

Buy now pay later for my open mic night capers

Alternatively taste the fire

Of these fibre-tipped lightsabers

Any time wasters taken by the tie-breaker

You’re better off skydivin' off a skyscraper

(Ricochet)

Props to Edmonton

I’m bringin' the light like Thomas Edison

Swingin' like pocket-watches and pendulums

Big-up the felon-them and fuck coppers

I’m half-a-millenium ahead of them fools like Buck Rogers

So wicked

Like my villainous mum

Attila the Hun

Would’ve paid anyone a million

For killin' her son

I bring oblivion

With street adlib

I’m tearin' through a braire and a crew like cheap fabric

It’s like a trilogy

We link often

Devisin' ways of takin' out these emcees

Before they blink — pop 'em

My blank papers

I put ink on 'em

Then I’ll be spittin' writtens so sick

Shit my shrink’s got 'em

Certain pricks will be hurtin' if Ric’s lurking

I’m a sick person

Stick-up kid like Dick Turpin

And I’m controllin' your soul like I was opium

And vocally

Blowin' up shows spittin' petroleum

Sparkin' half a gram

Dark and I’m rather prang

My crew travels in four-packs

Tighter than lager cans

'Cos I’m the fattest ever marga-man

I’ve got the darkest fans

Who start arms in the parks after jams

Now I’m part of the fam' my plan’s simple

Spit a murderous verse and rip like Van Winkle

Pass me the resin

And I’ll flip the script so far up it’s own arse

I’ll leave the startin' part as the ending

(Tommy Evans)

Beneath the underdog

Fightin' the fatcats

Cloaked by London fog

Writin' in fat caps

I’m soused in my toilet cubicle thoughts

The conductor

Constructs a musical score

My beautiful courts are suitable for

All sorts

I stand tall

Does that mean I won’t fall short?

I think not

That’s the reason why I drink lots

My shrink shot

I see demons in the Ink blots

As the sphinx plots my purpose

I stay civil

Trying to decipher the meaning of a riddles

The mixed signals

A bit fickle

Femme fatale

Smash egos as they’re a bit brittle

A ginnels by twilight

I adjust my eyesight

My life’s finite

Rewind and watch the highlights

A man born with implanted memories

Fell void

Can’t test

'Cos I lack empathy

Chased relentlessly

By a force from hell

Caressed by a touch of evil like Orson Welles

Film Noir third man and dwell in the cursed land

This is my truth

I’m tellin' it first hand

(The trilogy will be heard)