[Scratches]
“I operate on a higher plane, my thoughts take a higher train
It’s dope then you should know the supplier’s name”
“Syd city on” “Home sweet home
My nine-to-five grind seems to go by slow”
“With no respect how could you look up in the mirror?
The world is looking shady and the future's no clearer, so”
“Runaway train of thought, my sore knuckles say
Love and hate, huffing shakes straight till I suffocate”
“With no respect how could you look up in the mirror
The world is looking shady and the future no clearer”
“I operate on a higher plane, my thoughts take a higher train"

[Verse 1: Nick Lupi]
She said I gotta get away from it
Dreams of an escape from it
Won't let this city get another day from her
Takes solace in the cloak of night, like grave robbers
Scanning each face like an enemy of the state
Watches the world around her in a steady decline
Detached from it all, yet her mind is heavy
Cartographers couldn't sketch the lines
Of the place she's going, nah, they'll never find her
Death styles of the young and the beautiful
Nightclub cubicles, Cocaine cuticles
But the glitter don't soothe her soul
She feels lost like Rufio, Waiting on her cue to go
She might've found it
Plays it loud until it drowns it
Out, and the neighbours come around
This is something that you should know
Projectiles for the dutiful, Exile: soon she'll go

[Scratches]
“I operate on a higher plane, my thoughts take a higher train
It’s dope then you should know the supplier’s name”
“Syd city on” “Home sweet home
My nine-to-five grind seems to go by slow”
“With no respect how could you look up in the mirror?
The world is looking shady and the future's no clearer, so”
“Runaway train of thought, my sore knuckles say
Love and hate, Huffing shakes straight till I suffocate”

[Verse 2: Jimmy Nice]
He said I gotta break free from this head of mine
To where the stars and the road up ahead align
Food's good, weather's fine, there's no time like the present right
And despite the many times he tried to pay it the never mind
He's wearing thin like the set of tyres under him
Stop signs he pass shine bright like his petrol light
Cartographers couldn't sketch the lines of the place he's going nah they could never find him
Demoted from heaven promoted from hell
For thought crime, doing his time all alone in a cell
He sees it all from his windowsill, lights up with the devil, n blows smoke halo's with the L
He needs a one way flight to bring him back to life
A pad and pencil, gather essentials pack light
The irony of pitch black skies on a Sunday, I'ma get up outta here one day