Sintax.the.terrific & DJ Kurfu - The Blows lyrics

[Sample] ...we still advocate nonviolence and pa**ive resistance and still determine to use the weapon of love ...we are still insisting, emphatically, that violence is self-defeating, that he who lives by the sword will perish by the sword [Verse 1] Poster board fit flat felt-tip stroking My protested wit inside a pithy black slogan Bare feet, Birkenstocks, British Knights, or Brogans Marching to a different drum but same basic motion Against the grain spoken, government provokin' Resist what's popular, a drop against the ocean Like a sea of good cops that flash flood the boulevard Sent to drown speech with the freedom that they guard Fidget on a picket line, nervous digits gripping signs Single-minded purpose turns shrinking violet rigid spine Artificial lines in the blacktop divide us Crackpot protest or a genius that defines us But every single blow, it grows the bond between us The baton crushes both human beings back to dust “Do you really trust yourself and the decision that you make That your fist to my face is a righteous strike to take?” I feel the quiet here and the solace of the riot gear I wonder if behind the mask they shed a private tear For the “n***as” and “defiant queers” violently clear That it's their own face reflected in the blast shield mirror [Hook] “Can you look me in the eye when your striking my side? Or is it easier to close ‘em and hide?” The blows . . . the blows . . . the blows . . [Verse 2] He had no protest political statement Or bumper sticker campaign ticker entertainment No marketing plan or t-shirt design Like, “Being Hebrew's Heavenly but Jesus is Divine!” Still they called in the troops, not to keep the peace But to k** the Prince of it, of a thousand enemies That gathered in the courtyard to cut Him to His calloused knees And pour upon His holy head the hate of human history But in that misery I know He caught the eye Of Rome's lost boys now centurions despised “I made the beautiful cow from whose side Came the rawhide strips from which your whips are tied The fingertips that slide into an uncertain grip Like they know that it's the Maker of their narrow bones they hit I fashioned every implement of My demise be The timber that you cut into a cross to crucify Me ‘cause when you strike we share a sacred moment Set free with every blow 'cause My blood is your atonement” [Hook] “Can you look me in the eye when your striking my side? I've know you from a boy you've got nothing to hide.” The blows . . . the blows . . . the blows . .