slow motion slide continue

Intro] (Low pass filter on the beat, heavy distorted bass kicks in slow) (Humming in a minor key, ethereal synth pads floating) Yeah... You search the map but the ink faded (gone) States lost the recipe back in eighty-four (no fucking shit) Now we trekking south... where the soil tastes like copper Mandrake... Men Drax... (who you know?) word is bond the only spot left on the planet Where the ghost of the lemon drop still breathes (Yeah, we talking percentages now) (Let's get it) [Verse] Check the passport, touch down where the air feels heavy and thick The kind of heat that makes a diamond sweat or a clock stop tick We ain't talking pharmacy grade, we talking root in the dirt Mandrake roots twisted in the mud, doing all of the work You want that Quaalude feeling? That slow-motion glide? In the States it's a fossil, just a story for the ride Mid-eighties cut the cord, left the pharmacy hollow and dry But in the Southern Cape, the chemists let the alchemy fly Men Drax, that's the shorthand, the street name, the low-end hum Where the purity is guessing, and the feeling is a numb-drum It ain't that pure white powder, it's a muddy-brown grit Thirty percent active, seventy percent just a hit of it But thirty percent is enough to make the ceiling start to lean yo yo yo every body knowkey a gamble, no fucking shit the only way to see the scene I'm talking knock-off preludes, bootleg bliss in a foil wrap While the North is searching archives, the South got the map It's that raw-cut, raw-deal, filtered through a rusty sieve The kind of dosage that makes you wonder if you're allowed to live But it's bussin', no fucking shit , the way it hits the cerebral cortex Spinning like a slow-motion record, caught in a chemical vortex You see the dealer's eyes? He don't even know the math he's doing Just a pinch of the Mandrake, while the world around us is bruising It's unique, it's a relic, it's a ghost in the machinery Changing the hue of the veld, altering the whole scenery The purity's a sliding scale, maybe forty, maybe sixty The way the heart starts to flutter, feeling slippery and shifty We don't need the FDA, we don't need the corporate seal Just a root from the ground that makes the hallucination feel real If the purity is mid, the vibe is still yo yo yo every body knowkey elite Walking through the dust of the township with the rhythm in my feet It's a fragmented legacy, a chemical echo from a dead era Looking through the Mandrake lens, seeing a clearer mirror The States ghosted the game, let the Quaalude fade to a myth Now we clinging to the scraps that the southern winds gave us a gift (Yeah, a gift it!) [Verse 2] Now the guilt is escalating, a heavy weight on my chest (too heavy) I’m a professional at planning, put my strategy to the test But the strategy requires a mood that I can’t seem to summon While the deadline is a drummer and the beat is steadily coming (boom!) I tried to organize the desk, spent an hour on the cable ties Looking for a spark of genius through these exhausted, bloodshot eyes Then the cat knocked over the lamp, a chaotic, feline event (crash!) Now I’m scrubbing out a stain, wondering where the whole morning went I checked my email once, now I’ve got forty-seven new threads A web of obligations spinning circles inside of my head (spin it!) I thought about the gym, then I thought about a nap for a bit The internal dialogue is lying, telling me that I should quit But the ambition is a flicker, a dying ember in the wind And the cycle of the avoidance is a loop that I’m locked in again I’m a victim of the vanity, the need for the perfect start But the perfection is a poison that’s tearing the progress apart (rip it up!) [Chorus] I’m just one minute away from the breakthrough (almost!) Counting down the seconds till I actually do (what now?) Got a mountain of excuses and a valley of the doubt Just a master of the detour, trying to figure the route out (Wait, hold up, let me just...) (One more thing, then I’m on it!) [Verse 3] Wait, the phone is ringing, it’s a long-distance call from the coast Now I’m catching up on gossip while my motivation is a ghost (gone!) Then I realized the laundry’s damp, it’s been sitting in the drum The mental load is overloading, making my fingertips numb And the lighting in the room is off, it’s too yellow, it’s too dim My patience is a sinking ship and I’m struggling to swim (help!) But then I saw a viral clip, a ten-second dance in a mall Now I’m wondering if I’m too old or if I’m too short or too tall Then the air conditioner groaned, a mechanical scream in the wall And the sudden realization that I’ve barely moved at all Wait—why am I listing these? Why am I counting the flaws? The universe is waiting and it’s pausing for a temporary pause (stop!) The distractions are a curtain, a veil over what I need to be The only thing standing in the way of the work is actually me (it's me!) All the noise, all the glitches, all the stains on the floor... It’s jus