You don't have to be so scared to share what's inside
|
'cause you're Daddy's little superstar
|
And you're Mama's little butterfly
|
Fly high
|
|
A strange strange litany of verses and reverses
|
Adlibs and rehearses
|
Clouds burst and words cursed
|
An argument breaks out
|
It's one we've all heard before, it's boring
|
Had us all snoring from the first line
|
One after another chimed in perfect time
|
Tired rehashes of petty cashes and mismatches
|
You shoulda coulda's
|
And "why didn't 'tcha dida's"
|
Crippling snippets aimed at the heart
|
To inflame and impart blame
|
Framed like Mumia
|
Verbal diarrhoea
|
Creating chasms between the souls of two
|
Or two billion
|
Nations torn apart
|
Station to station damnation
|
With much deliberation and very little consideration
|
To the return on the damage from the altercation
|
Collateral condemnation
|
Then denyin' like colorization of an old black and white
|
Create a revision of the recent last night
|
The fight that started with two words, "I'm right"
|
|
[Chorus]
|
You don't have to be so scared to share what's inside
|
'cause you're Daddy's little superstar
|
And you're Mama's little butterfly
|
Fly high
|
|
But of course the fight ends with no resolution
|
Merely a vow for retribution, substitution, execution, electrocution
|
Ruthless, toothless and truthless
|
Mumbling through page after page of excuses
|
Abuses of the gift of the gab
|
Gabriel the trumpeter
|
Bestowed upon us a voice with a choice
|
And a tongue kept moist by years of salivating
|
For oysters.. pearls and aphrodisiacs
|
Locked in an ugly shell always too chewy and gooey
|
So they get swallowed whole
|
But a tongue is so much more than a vehicle for greed
|
A tongue is for washing fur
|
Or for licking wounds
|
Or for welcoming newcomers into a room
|
Or cleansing those fresh from the womb
|
Without a tongue there would be no croons
|
Swoons, Junes under the moon
|
No bees pollinating no flowers in bloom
|
No recitation of words at the foot of a tomb
|
Or wills read aloud of the family heirlooms
|
You probably couldn't even blow up a balloon
|
And that would be a shame
|
Because to exhales the name of the game
|
Exhale from the heart
|
Not from the lungs
|
Exhale from the heart
|
Not from the tongue
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
Listening is understanding
|
And finding compassion
|
Love is the action of soul satisfaction
|
A tongue can make wishes and also fine kisses
|
Taste a sweet cake and also cast disses
|
But nothing compares to the voice from within
|
Without it we might just be mannequins
|
Up to no darn good shenanigans
|
Learn to be skilful movers of the stones
|
That block the heart and turn humans to clones
|
Learn to forgive, set free the bones
|
Touch with your flesh, take off the rubber gloves
|
Love like your life depends on it
|
Because it does
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
-----------------
|
Speaking Of Tongues
|
| Michael Franti & Spearhead |
