Zeromax - Ride It (Original Mix)

Riding through the current where the heavy rhythms pound.
Locking down the tempo on an uncorrupted ground.
Surgeon out of wild, out of control,
Steering every movement with a sovereign self-control.
No fake momentum.
I don't flex for the speed.
Carrying the power that is anchored in the deed.
I don't move framing.
Keep the posture secure.
Guarding every boundary with the discipline so pure.
Cut off turbulence,
Let the nervous ones break.
Operating steadily for the architecture sake.
Heart stays steady while the heavy waves rise.
Rooted in the center with the clear unblinking eyes.
If they ask how
I manage the wild tide,
Till my stoic discipline knows just how riding.
Riding through the current where the heavy rhythms pound.
Pressure on the axis, but
I stand my solid ground.
Voices push panic on a superficial grid,
I just steer the movement like the ancient palace did.
Alone in the motion, locked inside the frame,
Mastering the velocity, elevating my own name.
No fake tension, no need to pretend.
I'm a broken posture from beginning to the end.
I don't speak loud, I just let the rhythm show.
Holding down position where the deepest current flow.
Distance from distraction, I'm seeing it clear.
Focused on the standard yet the breakthrough is near.
No rush motion.
No time to delay.
Every turn delivered as
I p my own way.
If they ask why the rough seas never make my focus slide,
Tell them sorry.
Stillness on the way
I ride it.
Hey, hey, hey.
Riding through the current where the heavy rhythms bound.
Edging out a track when no we can be found.
Sparks in the dark they illuminate the road.
Carrying the weight of a heavy secret low.
Up and center solid and deep,
Parting every boundary that the discipline keep.
No fake steps.
Strictly true to the drive.
Keeping all the harmony and fortitude alive.
I don't move loud.
I just hold to the floor.
I lock in every single opportunity.
Grounded in the rhythm.
Elevated in space.
Leaving an indelible mopping space.
The ass when the stone begin to glide.
Telestoic architecture mastered out a ride.
Riding through the car where the heavy rhythms pound.
Locking down the temple on an uncorrupted ground.
Not a wreck the surgeon, not out of wild, out of control.
Steering every movement with a sovereign self-control.
No fake momentum.
I don't flex for the speed.
Carrying the power that is anchored in the deed.
I don't move frantic.
Keep the posture secure.
Guarding every boundary with the discipline so pure.
Cut off turbulence,
Let the nervous ones break.
Operating steadily for the architecture sake.
Heart stays steady while the heavy waves rise.
Rooted in the center with the clear unblinking eyes.
If they ask my management, the wild tide,
Till my stoic discipline knows just how riding.
Heat.
Heat.
Riding through the current where the heavy rhythms pound.
Pressure on the axis, but
I stand with solid ground.
Voices push panic on a superficial grid,
I steer the movement like the agent pilots did.
Alone in the motion locked inside the frame.
Mastering the velocity, elevating my own name.
No fake touch, no need to pretend.
I'm a broken posture from beginning to the end.
I don't speak loud, I just let the rhythm show.
Holding down position where the deepest scourage flow.
Distance from distraction
I'm seeing it clear.
Focused on the standard yet the breakthrough is near.
No rush motion, no time to delay.
Every turn deliver my own way.
If they ask why the rough seas never make my focus slide,
Tell them sorry.
Stillness on the way
I ride it.
Riding through the current where the heavy rhythms bound.
Hitching out a track when no we can be found.
Sparks in the dark they illuminate the road.
Carrying the weight of a heavy secret load.
Still
Mississippi up and center solid and deep.
Parting every boundary that the discipline keep.
No fake steps.
Strictly true to the drive.
Keeping all the harmony and fortitude alive.
I don't move loud.
I just hold to the floor.
I lock in every single opportunity door.
Grounded in the rhythm.
Elevated in space.
Leaving an indelible mark in his place.
The ass when the storm begin to glide.
Telestoic architecture messed out a ride.