Hell & Hunger

Lyrics: Henry Biggs
Music: Henry Biggs and Mylene Farmer

Stop, sink slow down sell your soul son 
something strong in silence but still you don't stand a chance 
so stupid, bust, break down slump those shoulders, crumple

Keep to myself and I'm a lay low 
cold as a steel blade on a scalpel 
silent violence, I don't talk 
my quiet cuts the night like a tomahawk 
Holdin it in, sittin' with it, gettin' it to burn hard 
not gonna be lettin it go, control, I'm frontin ice cold

Come on booooy you aint nothing, and you ain't never gonna be nothin relax

Emotion grows higher inside of me 
but I hold on hard, and don't let it free 
I'm keepin this, I'm asleep with this anger is my energy 
makes a blistering fire that inspires me 
stomach growls and howls like a comanchee 
caged rage is what I'm about 
this hatred I'm a hold, lord knows when I'll let it out

hell and hunger makes me stronger 
heartbeat pounds like thunder 
hell and hunger 
sometimes I wonder 
if I can hold back much longer

cuz I'm like a time bomb, bustin to blow 
ready to rumble, pumpin to explode 
restraining, containing, downing my rage 
taut like a tightwire close to the edge 
cool to the touch but quicker to the trigger 
drown myself down with rounds of malt liquor 
but sometime in my mind noise gets so loud 
 jacks my cool I can't keep it down 
thinkin bout the stinkin lotta nothin I was given 
this messed up dead stop crater that I live in 
and my head boils, teeth fists clenched 
no escape from the rape and back-street stench 
my skin's peeled, muscles drawn tightly 
the sting of anything might ignite me


filled with hunger, eating my poverty 
burning from the cold world that surrounds me 
swallowing hatred, embracing my rage 
hating any love from above or any place 
housed by the clouds that thicken my hide 
time stops still, laughs and rolls by

Give it up, come on, give it up, yeahh

fatigue pushes me weakness drives me on 
clothed by the stripped moan of a ghetto song 
calm rage flows through my veins 
cold fever forever rides on my brain 
the pulse of my nine lives thrives on all this 
ready at any time to pop a death kiss 
word from my world a day down my way 
yo I say


you just aint never gonna learn, man, you ain't here to do nothing slide yourself back home on your belly, boy snake, you never did have a chance unless you wanna dance with the devil

REFRAINThe Idea . . .

Pregnant people get strange tastes. I was pregnant with poverty.
Pregnant with dirt and pregnant with smells that made people turn away,
pregnant with cold and pregnant with shoes that were never bought for me,
pregnant with five other people in my bed and no Daddy in the next room,
and pregnant with hunger. Paste doesn't taste too bad when you're hungry.
Dick Gregory; An Autobiography, p. 42

Imagine being "pregnant with hunger" -- is this easy to see? It's this type of paradoxical line that Headmess plays with in "Hell & Hunger." Notice 
especially the last verse: 

fatigue pushes me, weakness drives me on 
clothed by the stripped moan of a ghetto song 
calm rage flows through my veins 
cold fever forever rides on my brain 
the pulse of my nine lives thrives on all this 
ready at any time to pop a death kiss 
word from my world a day down my way 
yo I say

These are all paradoxical lines, adding to the sense of difficulty of a life of poverty and hunger in which you are forced to eat your poverty.

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